


Surive the Walking Dead

by milennialflowerchild



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen, Other, all original characters - Freeform, original story set in TWD universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-05-25 16:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 61,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14981492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milennialflowerchild/pseuds/milennialflowerchild
Summary: Alaska is known as the last frontier, but that nickname has become an unfortunate truth after the zombie apocalypse. With the refugee center mysteriously overrun and winter looming, those left in the Fairbanks area have one thing left to do, no matter the cost: survive. | Survive the Walking Dead is a fanmade companion series set in the Walking Dead universe. There are so many stories to be told, and this is one of them.





	1. Chapter 1

Reynolds was about ten years senior to the rookie Lancaster and it showed. Gray tinged his otherwise brunette crew cut; his face had a weathered look with the beginnings of crow's feet and, most distinctively, a crescent-shaped scar that ran from just under his eye socket to his nose. The mystery surrounding that blemish had been long gossiped over but by now Lancaster had settled into the realization that he, nor anyone else, would probably know how it happened.

"Can you believe this is the last of all the beer?" Reynolds popped the can open. With a disgusted shake of his head, he took a hearty gulp then used the back of his glove to wipe the driblets from his mouth.

Truthfully, Lancaster was glad that was the last of it. It all came from the refugees because no alcohol was allowed inside but they still tried to sneak it past. Something about telling people they couldn't keep their own booze but then seeing half the team get plastered with it as soon as the sun went down felt wrong. But, peer pressure worked just as good on him now as it did when he was seven. Sometimes he wondered how he even made it into the military. His desire to not be shunned overrode his morals sometimes - especially when it came to Reynolds. The man had clout and charisma, both of which he used to the fullest extent. So, Lancaster tried to sympathize. "Damn, that sucks. Maybe we can start making our own. A little fermented fruit, some sugar..."

A crooked grin spread across Reynolds' face. The door to their left opened and they were joined by Sara Jones, the only woman on their crew.

"What's that grin about?" She approached them curiously.

Motioning at Lancaster with his can, Reynolds chuckled. "He wants to make jailhouse liquor."

"Hey, it was just a suggestion," He shrugged his shoulders. "A joke, actually. I don't think Governor Eisenberg would appreciate it if we did."

Reynolds' smile gave way to a sour look. He took another swig.

Where there had been a sense of camaraderie and peace before, the tension was nearly palpable now. It didn't escape Lancaster that the other man was the one who caused this. After a moment, he questioned, "What?"

For once, the sergeant was speechless. The muscles in his jaw worked as he clenched his teeth and looked into his beer thoughtfully. His tone had taken a grave turn when he spoke again. "Supplies are really starting to run down, you know."

This was the last stop for a lot of people if their supplies bottomed out. So many of them had nowhere else to go or would be dead if it wasn't for Fort McAdams. Elderly, disabled, those that were sick with something that didn't turn them into a biter. It had been eroding at Lancaster's morale for over a week now since they last had contact with the governor. Up until that point she had communicated with them every day. Giving orders, updates on the state of fighting this, organizing supply drop-offs from the Red Cross. It worked that way for three weeks, then just...stopped. One day of no contact turned into two, then three, and by the fourth they had begun resigning themselves to the fact that she may be dead. Deliveries were made every Wednesday by the Red Cross and it had been equally long since they came around. Nobody said it but surely, they were all thinking it: Governor Eisenberg wasn't going to respond, and the Red Cross wasn't coming back.

"I think we're on our own. Eisenberg and everyone, they're probably...you know." Sara averted her eyes to the ground.

They had all lost somebody. Sara's brother, Reynolds' mom and both his sisters. Lancaster's cousin Frank died right at the beginning before he was sent to McAdams. His Dad was knocking on his door nine o'clock at night and relayed the information. Frank's death didn't even bother him that much, to tell the truth; he barely knew the guy. What truly shook him to the core was his father. Michael Lancaster was never scared. He could tell stories from when he was in the war without so much as a grimace. When they were snowed in that winter and lost power for two days he was completely unaffected. But talking about this? This rough patch, the apocalypse, whatever it was? The man was terrified. Lancaster replayed the scene in his head every day. Dad standing there with wide eyes, sweat pouring down his alabaster face as he said, " _They're eating each other, Kyle._ "

"They're dead," Reynolds interjected. He was emotionless, except maybe for anger. He gnawed the inside of his cheek. "Look, I've been keeping this to myself, but I might as well tell you now."

"What is it?" Lancaster's heart began to race as he shared a concerned look with Sara. Reynolds was about as open as they come. If he was keeping something to himself it must be bad.

Reynolds opened his mouth to speak but stopped short as a noise came from around the corner. A metallic clanging mixed with soft growling. The beer can clattered to the ground and splashed everywhere as the sergeant raised his rifle and immediately went into soldier mode. He hugged the building and approached the corner quickly. Lancaster and Sara fell in line. They copied him to a tee, only hanging back as he held up a hand and stepped around the side of the building.

"Biters." One shot, followed by two more, then Reynolds turned to them and jerked his head towards where he had been firing. "Come look at this shit."

Lancaster trudged forward and followed his superior's gaze. A woman with rotting skin slumped forward against the chain-link fence, half her head missing. Beside her were two males in similar shape. Brown brain matter dripped off the links onto the cement below. Reynolds stepped forward and used the muzzle of his gun to shove a particularly large chunk of skull through a gap.

"Three?" Sara's voice was high-pitched with surprise. "Where the hell are they coming from?"

"Where do they ever come from?" Lancaster felt queasy at the sight of it. Reynolds always said not to think of them as people, but he hadn't figured out how to do that.

Using the scope on his weapon, Reynolds gave a quick scan of the area then turned back to them. He sighed. "Governor Eisenberg's been on her own for a while."

Sara's face fell. "What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean? Communication with other governors has ceased. There's been no word from any of the higher ups." He paused to let this news sink in. "Everything's quiet. And it's been that way since about a week after we got here."

Sara nearly collapsed as she tried to process this. Lancaster followed her as she stumbled over to the building and slumped against it, speechless.

Abruptly, the shock gave way to anger. How long had Reynolds been keeping them in the dark, and why? "Why the hell didn't you tell us?"

"I just did."

"But what are we going to do?" Sara's voice warbled. "You said it yourself, we're just about at the bottom of the barrel as far as supplies go, and - "

"The way I see it, we've got two options. We're either the National Guard or survivors. We can't be both for much longer."

Lancaster's gut clenched with fear. For Reynolds to be saying this stuff, they had truly reached the end of the line. Not just the Fort, but everybody in the country. Reynolds would never do anything like this, anything that could risk his rank unless he knew he could get away with it. It was too much for him to comprehend on an empty stomach.

"So, what?" Sara's eyes went wide as saucers. "You want to abandon our post?"

Reynolds snorted. "No. Those fresh-out-of-boot-camp grunts might have, but this place is ours. We're the ones holding it down and dealing with the same morons expecting us to pull food out of our ass for them every day. We're the ones who've tried to make everything okay and it's never enough. Farris, Petty, Billingsley, and us. That's it. Everyone else, well...they're gonna find out how good they had it here."

"Jesus!" Lancaster exclaimed, unable to help it. Quickly, he calmed himself. "Sir, some of these people...they're old, or have babies or are sick. They can't make It without us."

"This is probably one of the last secure places in the state, be damned if I'm gonna give it up or keep sharing it with people who can't hold their own. Every man for themselves. That's how it goes."

Sara wore a horrified expression. "Don't you think we should try to get to Juneau first? What if Eisenberg just hasn't been able to send anyone our way for a while?"

It was as if the world had reverted to medieval times since the power grid went out. The Fort was sustained by a few gas guzzling generators, but the phones hadn't worked for a while anyway; Lancaster assumed a line was down somewhere, and it's not anyone was coming to fix it. They communicated by messengers. On the 15th of every month unless there was an emergency. Governor Eisenberg didn't do it herself, the role went to one of her lackeys, and their lines of communication stopped and ended with him.

"Juneau," Reynolds repeated incredulously. "Great idea. Let's all pile in the Humvee and go on a twenty hour road trip. I'll bring the snacks."

Sara laughed humorlessly. "This is crazy, we can't just give up! Send someone there to check it out before making a decision like this. Please."

"No," Reynolds said firmly. "If we send a patrol and they don't come back then we're just out more men."

Lancaster folded his arms. "And what if they come back and it turns out the governor's fine, and things are no worse? Then you - "

"I said no!" Reynold's voice echoed off their surroundings. "We've gotten pretty chummy in the last few months and I get that, but I think the two of you need to remember who's calling the shots here."

Lancaster dared, "What exactly do you want to do?"

"A reversed coup," Reynolds replied, with way too much humor given the topic. "We're taking the Fort."

"Where are all these people gonna go?" Sara questioned.

Reynolds spat on the ground. "There was this proverb my mom used to say all the time. You know, before she got eaten alive. It went, 'he who trusts in his own heart is a fool, but he who walks wisely will be delivered.' If I was thinking with my heart, and thinking about these people, I wouldn't have made it this long. You can't do that anymore."

_I don't think that's what that saying means at all_ , Lancaster thought.

Sara insisted, "You can't just – "

"You have two choices," Reynolds interjected. "You can stay and accept what's happening, or you can leave. Either way, things are gonna change and they're gonna change tonight."

"Sir…" Sara pleaded.

Reynolds stomped forward and went inside, slamming the door so hard dirt puffed out from some of the lower bricks. Suddenly, it was like the world ended again. Now he had an afternoon to decide what he was going to do. If he stayed, he'd have to sit back and let whatever Reynolds had planned unfold. Was he just going to tell these people to get out? And do what if they refused…shoot them? He wouldn't put it past him. Reynolds lived for himself. When he wanted something, he did whatever it took to get it. Those attributes might be useful, though, now that people were roaming around trying to eat one another. Lancaster couldn't make it on his own and neither could most of the people inside. The only reason he'd lasted his long because he _hadn't_ been on his own. Some of the stories he heard from the civilians were so terrible they gave him nightmares.

Sara looked at him fretfully. "What are we gonna do?"

"The right thing," Lancaster replied without hesitation.

"For us or them?"

That gave Lancaster something to think about. "I don't know."

* * *

Although he used to be a 'don't talk to me before my third cup of coffee' kind of guy, morning was now Ben Wallace's favorite time of day. It was when the camp was most like the way it had been when the mine was in operation, and sometimes he could pretend for a few minutes that everything was normal. With 'his workers' lumbering out from their trailers and cabins and tents to meet by the picnic tables. Only now instead of chit-chatting with familiar faces, he got to go over plans for the day with people he had known for all of three weeks. Folks Jake found in the city and needed somewhere to go. Survivors.

There were thirteen of them now and things were starting to get a little crowded. Of course, Ben claimed his old trailer, but fitting three people in there wasn't easy or comfortable. The sleeping quarters contained two single mattresses separated by a built-in nightstand. As if that wasn't hard enough on the intimacy, Dad slept on the floor five feet from them. Ben would rather it be the other way around; he couldn't imagine what a trailer floor must do to a sixty-seven-year-old's back. But the old man was stubborn and always insisted it wasn't his trailer.

"Hey, boss. You slept late." Samantha gazed down from her post atop the Peterson's trailer. She hadn't touched a gun in her life before everything happened, but guard duty was the one job she agreed to, and they all knew why – it was almost guaranteed to be uneventful. Red Fox Mine was so far from anything that the only people who knew about it were those that worked there. She sat wrapped in a blanket against the morning chill, casually flipping through a magazine.

"I know," Ben replied. It felt wrong to be the 'boss' and wake up last. "I guess all that work on the rain catchers wore me out."

"Don't feel bad. The camp won't fall apart if you sleep in a little."

Ben appreciated the sentiment, but he wasn't so sure it was true. "…good to know. Have you seen Kate?"

"Nope. I figured she was sleeping in too..." Samantha gasped. "Is she missing? I've been up here since dawn and haven't seen her."

"No," Ben said quickly. "She's not missing. Probably just found something to do early this morning."

Samantha readjusted in her chair. "Well…I'll keep an eye out for her."

"Thanks." He hurried away before she could jump to anymore conclusions. Samantha was a sweet girl but had a very active imagination, as well as a cynical outlook. The combination made for a lot of jokes at her expense from some of the more callous survivors. This was a dynamic Ben had seen before. People forced to spend so much time together were bound to clash. It was almost a theme of the mine.

Ben made his way past the Evans family, huddled together in front of their tent. They were the first family to join the Wallaces. Clarence was a big man with military background, both of which automatically made him valuable in Ben's eyes.

Nine-year-old Aaliyah clutched her father's hand. She was practically his spitting image, with the same dark skin and big eyes. She whined, "I want to go with you, daddy!"

"You're staying with me and that's the end of it," Keisha told her. "You're too little."

Clarence said, "She could watch…"

"No!" Keisha insisted. "Jake and Lauren are already waiting for you, you better go."

"Hell, Keisha, _I'm_ training them. They won't leave without me." Clarence hesitated for a moment further, then kissed his wife and daughter goodbye. "Maybe when you're older."

Aaliyah stomped her foot. "I hate it here, there's nothing to do!"

_This must be about that gun_ , Ben realized. The assault rifle Jake and Lauren scavenged on their last run had been the talk of the camp for days now. Certain people thought shooting lessons were a no-brainer while others saw it as unnecessary. For the most part, Ben let everyone hash their own shit out. He had enough to do without policing the endless disagreements. It was only when Keisha and Samantha came to him demanding that only he and Clarence had guns that he had to step in and lay down the law. Guns were an integral part of their lives whether they liked it or not.

"Ben," said Peggy. She didn't look up from her task of slicing apples. By the looks of the bushel beside her, she'd been at this for a while. "Dean got a bunch of doves this morning. Your dad's down by the creek helping clean 'em up." Peggy and her husband Dean were the other two seniors of the group. Since they were always up at the crack of dawn, they had breakfast duty. Meal times got later and later, which made Ben question if they were still up to the task.

"Doves?" Ben questioned. "People eat doves?"

Peggy stopped slicing to cut him an irritated look. "Damn yuppies. You're getting as bad as that bleeding-heart Samantha."

"I didn't say we should all turn to veganism. I just didn't know you could eat doves."

"Hey, as long as it doesn't talk, I'll eat it."

Ben snickered. Peggy's crassness used to be off-putting, but at this point it kept up morale. "How many doves is 'a bunch'?"

"Not enough for thirteen people," she replied. "Probably seven or eight."

"Okay." Ben couldn't help but be frustrated. He didn't expect Dean to pull off any miracles, but eight winged rats weren't much considering how low their food supplies were. Red Fox Mine's distance from the city was both a blessing as well as a disadvantage. It took so much time and gasoline just to get there and back that they had to make their scavenging trips count, but that wasn't always easy to do. Most stores were either picked clean or infested with walkers.

The path to the crick had been trodden so much in the past few weeks that grass had worn down to dusty dirt, much like the 'common area' in front of the trailers. Ben almost lost his balance a couple times as he made his way down. Just before Dean and Dad came into sight, he heard bickering.

"You don't know how to do anything. You've got to _hold onto_ the bird while you pluck the feathers."

"Did you tell me that? No, you just expect me to know everything." Dad fired back.

"Jeez, Marvin, get a clue. You 'bout threw the thing back to its nest."

The two of them were so preoccupied that they didn't even notice Ben. Dean's teenage granddaughter crouched at the creek a good fifteen feet downstream, expertly washing the doves they – or Dean – managed to pluck. She noticed Ben and waved, then rolled her eyes at the old men. They were on their rumps in the mud, a bucket of doves between them. A small pile of feathers sat near the bank of the creek, water as still and smooth as could be.

"Looks like you had a good hunt."

He startled Dean so badly that he kicked the bucket over, sending the doves into the mud. He put a hand on his chest. "Ben, you…"

He fought back laughter. It was a funny sight, but there was something about this that concerned him. "You guys need to be a little more aware of your surroundings. If I could sneak up on you then so could a walker."

"Got my .38 special right here," Dad patted his hip. "And I appreciate your concern, son, but we don't need a babysitter."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. He nodded to his granddaughter. "We've already got a lookout. Right, Courtney?"

"Right." She hopped off her perch and exchanged the clean dove for a dirty one.

If Peggy's estimate was accurate, it looked like they had four birds done. Even though he had no idea what they tasted like, Ben's stomach growled at the sight. "Have you seen Kate?"

"What, she wasn't with you?" Dad frowned.

Ben shook his head. "No. I didn't think anything of it when I first woke up. She's been having trouble sleeping the last couple nights, goes and sits outside to clear her head sometimes. But she wasn't in camp."

"Huh." Dad rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully. "Well, I wouldn't worry. She can handle herself."

There was no polite way to deny that about his own wife, even if the woman had no firearms experience and regularly got lost in the supermarket. So, Ben refrained from arguing.

"It looked like there was a walkie missing this morning," Dean said. "Try her on that."

"She never takes a radio." Despite his skepticism, Ben pulled the radio from the belt of his cargo pants and pressed the Talk button. "Come in Kate, come in Kate."

No response but static. He tried again. "Kate, do you read me?"

" _Hey Honey! A rainbow showed me the way_."

Ben had begun the trek back to camp but stopped dead at that response. It was his wife's voice, no doubt, but something was…off.

"What? A rainbow?"

" _A rainbow showed me the way_ ," she repeated. " _You can join me. Just you, you're the only one who can_."

Dad left the doves to join Ben. His features creased with concern. "Did she say rainbow?"

"Yeah. I don't know what's going on." His hand trembled when he pressed the Talk button again. "Kate, honey, what's going on? Where are you?"

From beside the creek, Dean called, "Is everything alright?"

Dad waved him off. Kate's voice was so soft he had to lean in to hear.

" _I can't stay in camp. It's not safe there, but it is out here._ "

Sickening realization crashed down over Ben. Something like this had happened once before, when she forgot to refill her prescription. How could he be so stupid, how could he forget?

Dad urged, "Ask her where she is!"

"Kate, where? Where is it safe?"

" _Out here in the scrapyard_."

"Scrapyard? That's not safe. What the hell is she thinking?"

"I don't think she is." Ben pressed the Talk button once more and told her, "Okay, I'm coming. You stay right there."

"I'll come with you," Dad offered. "That's - "

"No," Ben said. He clipped the radio back to his belt and up the path at a jog. "She said only me."

"Ben," Dad called. "Ben!" He started to follow his son but stopped short, realizing he was already left in the dust.

Dean joined Marvin on the path. He took off his bloody gloves and stuck them in his pocket. "I only heard bits and pieces, but I don't like the sound of this. What's safe about a mine scrapyard?"

Marvin gnawed his lip. "I'd say something is very wrong."

They shared a look of concern, then Dean turned back towards the creek. "Let's finish up here."

Clarence slowed the truck to a crawl as it entered the 'shooting range'. In reality, it was just the flattest piece of land they could find that wasn't completely overgrown with grass and weeds. All three of them in the cab bounced around as the truck passed over bumps and tree roots, creaking with every move. Though it was technically the Peterson's vehicle, they hadn't stepped foot in it since they got to the camp. There were only three vehicles to go around and Ben wouldn't let him drive the good ones through the woods. Clarence awaited the day it fell apart like a cartoon.

"Ow!" Lauren exclaimed, wrapping her arms protectively around her head. "Jake, your skull is like concrete."

Jake braced himself against the dashboard. "Sorry."

"Being in a man-sandwich is nothing like I imagined," Lauren muttered.

Clarence chuckled. "You guys never went driving on country roads for fun, did you?"

"That's some backwoods shit," Jake replied.

One last bump almost sent Lauren to the floor as Clarence pulled over in front of the tree line. This little hollow got regular use since he and his family joined the group. Some of these people didn't know their ass from a hole in the ground, and being a retired marine, it was almost an instinct that urged Clarence to train them. Marvin helped him fasten some junk from the scrapyard to the tree for target practice. Everyone got a turn with the handguns and it was easy to see who was ready for something a little more powerful and who wasn't. Jake was pretty good for someone who hadn't touched a gun in his life. Much to everyone's surprise, Lauren was the most promising. Nobody expected that out of a twenty-something that worked the register at McDonald's a couple months ago. She always went for the old muffler, and it was so perforated now that the sunlight caused a disco-ball effect on the ground. That was all with handguns; Clarence couldn't help but look forward to how she would handle a rifle.

"I should get to go first since _I_ wasn't late." Jake hopped out and held the door open for Lauren. He swung it shut once she exited the vehicle.

Clarence glared at him. "Don't start with me, man. I was talking to my wife."

"Talking?" Jake sniggered, leading the way to the back of the truck. "Is that what you call it?"

"They were just squabbling, that's one thing." Lauren said. "What Peggy and Dean were doing last night is another."

"Finally, someone mentions it." Jake grinned. "I was starting to think I imagined it."

"They kind of worry me," Lauren admitted. "By day they're normal old people, and by night they're fighting like cats and dogs. We all know last night wasn't the first time either. It's like they think the inch-thick walls of their trailer are sound proof."

"Maybe fighting is their foreplay," Jake suggested.

"Ewww," Lauren laughed.

"We gonna gossip or do some shooting?" Clarence dropped the tailgate and unzipped the duffel bag. He retrieved the magazine then popped it into the rifle with a _clack_. He lead the way to the old barrel that marked fifty yards. Not quite as old as the Petersons but not nearly as young as Lauren, Clarence's age never bothered him. However, he did wonder if that was why he found the younger survivors so irritating sometimes. Who cared what the elderly argued over? Clarence didn't think it was as interesting as Lauren made it out to be. Probably the last spoonful of Metamucil or something.

"They're hiding something, you ask me." Lauren trailed after Clarence. She pulled her mousy brown hair back into a ponytail and tied it up.

"I don't think anyone did ask you, Lauren."

Before Lauren could respond, Jake clapped his hands together. "Okay, let's get started!"

Clarence began, "I don't know how often we'll actually get to use this thing but it's bad _ass_. Ten times better than what I had in Vietnam if that means anything to you."

"Not really." Lauren reached for it and huffed when Clarence moved it away. "Come on. How different can it be from the handguns?"

Jake chuckled. "Maybe he should've brought his daughter after all. She could explain it to you."

"Bite me."

"The difference," Clarence raised his voice above the bickering until he had their full attention. "Is power. Not that the handguns aren't powerful, but this is an AR-15. It shoots faster, it kicks more, and it's nastier. If we had green tips, we could shoot through armor, steel, almost anything we wanted."

Lauren asked, "Green tips?"

"Type of ammo," Clarence replied. "They're a little bit harder to find. What we do have are hollow points. Still powerful, just not _as_ powerful."

"The ground beef of the bullet world," Jake commented.

"After loading a magazine, you need to chamber a round." Clarence pulled the charging handle and let it snap back into place. "Then you're ready to go."

Lauren asked, "Should I cover my ears?"

"There's no point. You won't be able to cover your ears in a real firefight." Clarence lowered the weapon and motioned her over. She eagerly sidled beside him and took the rifle. He guided her hands into the right positions and nudged her feet the proper length apart.

"Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to fire," he reminded her. He pointed to a switch adjacent to the trigger guard. "That's the safety. Flip it down when you're ready."

"Okay," She took a deep breath and found the muffler, which was a little difficult given how powerful the scope was. With the crosshairs lined up dead center, she flipped the safety off and pulled the trigger. She couldn't help but flinch at the deafening noise; her ears rang, and she looked questioningly at her trainer.

"Notice that hole at the top that's bigger than the rest?" A penny-sized hole stood out against the smaller other ones.

"I did that?" Lauren exclaimed.

"Lucky shot, lucky shot!" Jake chanted.

Clarence said, "One shot, one kill, no luck, all skill."

"She killed a muffler."

Without warning, Lauren fired three more rounds. Two hit the target. She looked triumphantly at Jake.

"Safety on," Clarence instructed. "Well done. Let's see what Jake can do now."

Lauren handed off the gun and took Jake's place on the sidelines. Clarence gave Jake the same instructions, then joined her.

Jake fired once, missed, and cut Lauren a dirty look before trying – and missing – again.

"Oh, come on!"

Ben raced through the woods along the unmarked trail that led to the scrapyard. It was a path he'd taken more times than he could count, and never in any of those times had he been as afraid as he was in that moment. Normally, he'd take the ATV, but there was no time to go back and get it. A hundred scenarios played out in his head, ranging from Kate being bitten to refusing to go back to camp. _What then?_

The scrapyard came into sight, with the old torn apart vehicles and rusty spare parts laying everywhere. In the middle of it all, Kate sat upon a pile of old tires. She looked calm, even relaxed, with her legs crossed. Her blank stare snapped to Ben as he slowed to a jog into the clearing.

"Good, they showed you too."

Completely out of breath, Ben hurried to his wife and plopped down beside her. He reached for her, but she pulled away. His mind was coming up blank with things to say. This was a delicate situation and he wasn't sure how to handle it.

"We can stay together now," she said. When he didn't reply, she frowned. "You do want to stay with me, don't you?"

"Kate…" He panted. "You're sick, honey. You must have run out of your medication."

She looked as though she had been backhanded. "I know I've had my problems, Ben, but I _saw_ them. They showed me the way out. Everyone hates me, they want me gone."

"No, I promise you. You just need your medication." He cautiously wrapped his arms around her. This time she allowed it. "I'm so sorry. This is my fault. I should've remembered."

She repeated, "I know what I saw."

He asked, "How long have you been out here?" His guess would've been since at least dawn. She looked like she just got out of bed, with her wild hair and pajama bottoms.

"I don't know," she replied. "A while."

Ben whirled around as a heavy rustling in the foliage grew closer. A stringy-haired walker emerged and fought against the flimsy fence guarding the scrapyard. He stood and retrieved his nine-millimeter from his waistband.

"See, it's not safe. We're too close to the road." He aimed carefully then pulled the trigger. Half of the walker's head splattered on the fence and surrounding junk. She fell to the ground, dead. None ever reached the camp, but they occasionally wandered down from the road.

After Kate didn't respond, Ben pulled her to her feet. "Please, come back. You trust me, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then believe me – no one wants you gone. Dad and Dean heard you over the radio and they're really worried about you."

"If you say so." She sighed but allowed Ben to guide her out of the scrapyard.

"I'm gonna go get you some medication as soon as I can," he promised, strengthening his hold on her. "I'll never let you down again."

Their trek to camp was slow and silent, which gave Ben no escape from his mind. His and Kate's arguments always seemed to be the same. He would call her materialistic and snooty, and she'd tell him he was selfish and inconsiderate. Now the evidence was in front of his face and there was no denying it: Kate was right.

"Would you look at us. A little girl, a woman who's never touched a gun, an old lady, and…Samantha." Peggy's task of slicing apples was far from finished but it wasn't like Dean was coming back with those doves anytime soon. Meticulous to a fault, he always thoroughly skinned and cleaned all of his kills. Of course Peggy didn't want anyone to get food poisoning or whatever else, but she wished there was a faster system.

The three adults sat at the picnic table while Aaliyah drew in the dirt a few feet away. Keisha said, "To tell you the truth, I don't like this. I know we're out in the middle of nowhere but if something were to happen… "

"We'd be dead meat," Aaliyah sighed.

Keisha opened and shut her mouth a couple times in surprise. "The adults are talking, honey."

"She's not wrong," Samantha whispered. "Clarence or Ben should always be here. Both of them gone at once is crazy, they're the only ones that might be able to handle a crisis."

"Yeah," Keisha agreed. "Kind of like the president and vice president never traveling together."

Peggy grumbled, "Bottom line is we need more people. Ben's a fool if he thinks this group can make it through the winter as we are."

"Living space is cramped as it is," Keisha argued. "In fact, I've been meaning to talk to him about finding more trailers or something. These barracks and tents aren't going to work much longer. The temperature's dropping more and more every night."

"Shack is a more accurate term than barracks. I sneezed last night, and a shingle fell off." Samantha joked, then quickly corrected herself. "N-not that I don't appreciate Ben letting me stay here, I do..."

Peggy said, "Calm down, we're all friends here."

"We're just bad-mouthing the boss while he's away. I feel like I'm back working at the school." Keisha smiled. "But while we're bitching, why is my family the one stuck in his old employee's tent?"

Samantha shrugged. "Well, we've got four trailers, four barracks, and thirteen people…"

"Do you think tents are going to survive an Alaskan winter?" Keisha asked. "Ben says Clarence is like his lieutenant then sticks us in the tent to freeze."

Marvin's voice suddenly chimed in, making all three of them flinch. "This is really nice."

Samantha's alabaster cheeks flushed. She stared at him like a deer in the headlights as he, Courtney, and Dean entered camp from the creek path. Carrying their cleaned kills and tools, Courtney scurried past them to her grandparent's trailer. Aaliyah followed her, chattering away.

Keisha waited until the kids passed and kept her cool. "We're just blowing off steam, Marvin. I know he's your son and it's not easy to hear, but it's harmless."

"After all, you didn't _have_ to listen," Peggy added.

Dean elbowed Marvin and chuckled. "Puts a new meaning on the 'gaggle of hens' saying, don't it?"

Unamused by Dean's jab, Marvin shook his head. "Ben busts his butt for you people and this is how you talk about him as soon as his back is turned."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wallace!" Samantha blurted. "I'm so grateful for everything you and Ben have done for me, really, I – "

Peggy interjected, "Would you shut up? We did nothing wrong."

"I'm with Peggy," said Keisha. "Don't turn this into something it's not. We're all glad Ben's in charge."

"You have a funny way of showing it." Marvin pursed his lips and stormed off to the Wallace trailer, slamming the door on his way in.

"Speak of the devil," Dean mumbled.

Ben entered camp with Kate clinging to his arm. Something about her looked off, but Peggy couldn't quite put her finger on it. Aside from the fact that she looked as though she'd been homeless for the past year, anyway.

Samantha rose from the table and scrambled alongside Ben. "Are you – is she okay?"

Ben impatiently moved around her. "She's fine."

"Do you need anything? Water, a snack?" Samantha's concerned questions were met with silence from Kate.

Ben stumbled out of surprise when Kate suddenly detached from him and walked the rest of the way herself. Just as she reached the trailer, the door popped open and Marvin stood in the doorway, a look of bewilderment on his face. Kate pushed past him and Marvin quickly shut the door.

Turning to Samantha, Ben worriedly ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair. "She's just a little dehydrated. She'll feel better after she gets some water and food in her."

"Dehydrated?" Keisha asked doubtfully. "She looks – "

"Drop it, okay?" Ben's tone left no room for further discussion. "Samantha, will you bring me some of those apples?"

Samantha jogged over to the table, took the whole bushel, and returned them to Ben. "Give her all she needs."

"Will do." Ben trudged up the steps and entered his trailer, leaving the camp in surprised silence.

Peggy felt a surge of worry. Whether it was for herself or Kate, she wasn't sure.

Samantha returned to the picnic table. "Kind of scary the way she was just staring off into space."

Keisha folded her hands in front of her; a move Peggy recognized as 'teacher mode'. "Let's respect their privacy. We've got stuff to do anyway."

For once, Peggy decided to keep her mouth shut. Just as they were about to go their separate ways, Dean spoke up.

"You know..." He fidgeted with the zippers on his camouflage vest. He kept his gaze on the ground.

"If you've got something to say then let's hear it." Peggy resisted the urge to leap across the table like a rabid animal and strangle her husband. _God_ how she hated when he dragged things out.

Dean replied, "Nothing. I forgot what I was going to say."

"Why don't you get goin' with those doves?" Keisha stood from the table and stretched. "I'm starving."

"Yeah." He headed towards their trailer and called over his shoulder, "They'll be ready in no time."

Peggy drummed her fingers on the table. There was something he wasn't saying, that much was obvious. Maybe not to the others, but she'd been married to the man for forty-three years. She knew him inside and out, she knew all his quirks and nervous habits. _Be damned if you're going to keep something else from me, old man._

Keisha and Samantha jumped as Peggy slammed her hands against the table and stood up.

"What are you doing?" Keisha asked.

Peggy didn't give her an answer. Instead, she charged straight to their trailer and thrust the door open.

Dean stood by the door with the sack of birds, about to exit. He gave his wife a questioning look, which she ignored. At the table sat Courtney and Aaliyah, the two of them chatting as they did.

"Out," Peggy barked at the girls. Part of her felt a little guilty when she saw the confused looks on their faces, but they'd recover.

Courtney rushed Aaliyah out, carrying the coloring book and crayons with her. No sooner than the door latched, Dean sighed.

"Alright, what do you want?"

"I want to know what you're hiding from me," Peggy replied. "You were standing out there – "

Dean threw the birds aside and slammed his fist on the counter beside him. It made the whole wall rattle. "Enough!"

Peggy's surprise at this outburst was quickly replaced with fury. "You think that scares me?"

"I'm not trying to scare you," Dean answered. As quickly as his anger had come, it disappeared. "I'm _tired_."

"We're all tired."

Dean pushed his glasses up with a finger. "No, I'm tired of _you_. You're gonna keep blaming me for what happened until it kills me."

"You can't even say it," Peggy spat.

"I didn't want to do it, and that's the last time I'm ever going to say about any of it." He picked up the bird sack. "I may not be able to get a formal divorce from you, but I can break it off. And that's what I'm doing."

"I don't care what you do. Except we're stuck together in this trailer and have a granddaughter to think about."

"I'm gonna talk to Ben about sleeping in the dining trailer," Dean replied. "And we'll tell Courtney the truth."

"Which is?"

"Sometimes love isn't enough. Sometimes it's just not _worth_ it anymore."

Peggy realized all she felt was relief. "That's still not what you were ho-humming about outside. I know it's not."

Dean seemed taken aback by the way she turned the conversation around. His mouth fell open, but he quickly composed himself. "It's not my business to tell but I have my suspicions that Kate's not just dehydrated."

"What else would it be?'

"I don't know. That's why I didn't want to say anything." He sighed. "So, there you have it. That's what you were harassing me over. Can I go now, madame?"

Peggy's only response was a smoldering glare. Dean began muttering under his breath as he went out the door.

_Good riddance_.

* * *

Fort McAdams was supposed to be a sanctuary for the state of Alaska. _The_ sanctuary, in fact. It was the only place Jerome Dufour had ever heard about, and now it was over. Just like that, he and his family were thrust into this world; one that was unfamiliar to them. He wasn't even sure what happened. All he remembered from the past three hours were flashes. Gunfire. Screaming. Running. Stabbing someone. Stealing the Humvee. Realizing his wife and daughter were still with him and thinking everything was okay. Wondering what the hell that said about his morality. Beyond that, nothing was clear, and nothing was certain.

For the first time since it all went down, he stopped both the vehicle and his mind. He pulled beside the gas pump and turned the engine off. Nobody had said a word for at least an hour, and this theme continued for a few more minutes. The gas station looked like every other building he passed. Broken glass, abandoned cars, and no electricity. It was a wake-up call, one that made Jerome feel stupid and naïve.

"I'm gonna see if there's anything to eat while you fill up the tank." Rachel reached over from the passenger seat and laid a hand on her husband's arm.

"Let's just stick together." Jerome placed his hand over top hers, grateful she was still by his side. Truthfully, he was skeptical that this gas station would have any more to offer than the last two, but he tried to hang onto some hope.

"Okay," Rachel agreed. She looked over her shoulder to their daughter in the back seat. "Emma, you stay right by me."

The ten-year-old only nodded, causing her parents to share a look of concern. Physically, she resembled her mother. Same hazel eyes, same auburn hair. But inside, she was much more like her father, and that's what worried him. Of all the things she could learn from him, Jerome had accidentally taught her to bottle things up.

"How are you holding up, my chérie?" Jerome looked at the rearview mirror to see his daughter shrug.

"Fine," she answered. "I guess I'm a little hungry."

"I'm sure we'll find something," he said. None of them had eaten in close to a day. The Fort cut them back to two meals a day, and then the siege or _whatever_ that was happened before they got breakfast. Now, the sun's position told Jerome it was getting close to noon. _No wonder I feel so drained._

With Alaska on the edge of autumn, the heavily wooded area around them was a beautiful mixture of golds, reds, and oranges. Jerome stopped to admire this as he hopped out of the vehicle into the cool air.

"On the bright side, we've got to see a lot of nature since we hit the road."

Rachel stood at the front of the Hummer with Emma at her side. She cocked her head. "I've always known you're an optimistic person, but that's a whole new level."

For the first time in hours, Jerome smiled. Something rustling around in the gas station caused all three of them to snap their attention to the darkened building. Two 'sick ones' stumbled out, eagerly trudging through the glass to reach the Dufour family. Their putrid stench hit Jerome like a ton of bricks, and he covered his nose with his arm.

"Get in the Hummer," Jerome ordered. As Rachel flew around to the passenger side with Emma in tow, Jerome wracked his brain for a way to deal with this. He'd been able to escape without killing them so far, but he knew it was time to stop running. They needed food and gas, and these damn bags of skin weren't going to stop him from getting it. All he had was the Ka-Bar knife he'd managed to sneak into the Fort and escape with, but he didn't want to get that close to them.

The faster of the two creatures moaned hungrily, wild eyes locked onto Jerome. His head lolled onto his own shoulder, attached only by skin. When it surged forward between the gas pump and the Humvee, Jerome leapt backwards. The other 'sick one' went around the opposite side of the pump and followed him, gnarled hands outstretched.

"Papa!" Emma shrieked. This got the attention of the nearly-headless monster, and instead of going after Jerome he turned and began to pound at the window.

Jerome scrambled backwards so quickly he almost fell. He rushed to one of the abandoned cars and circled it, searching for an unlocked door. Much to his relief, the passenger side door opened first try. He pulled the glove box open and rifled through the maps and parking tickets. When it became clear there was no gun hiding in there, he climbed in far enough to search under the seats. All he found there were fast food wrappers and more parking tickets. Heart pounding, Jerome quickly backed out of the car and away from the rapidly approaching woman. He moved to the trunk of the car and popped it open with his knife, nearly melting in relief when he saw a crowbar inside.

Trembling hands wrapped around the makeshift weapon, Jerome braced himself for the approaching fight. Despite the adrenaline and fear rushing through him, he froze as soon as it was within striking distance. Those milky, blank eyes staring at him used to belong to a _person_. Someone's daughter, or spouse, or sister. By the looks of her mostly intact clothes, it wasn't long ago.

"I'm sorry," Jerome whispered, then swung the crowbar with all his might. It hit the woman's skull with enough force to knock it out of Jerome's hands, yet It only angered her. She snarled furiously and followed Jerome's every move as he lifted the crowbar again. This time, he gripped it a little farther down the shaft when he swung. The impact stung his hands but did much more damage to his assailant. The woman's head parted where he'd struck it. Blood splattered onto Jerome and everything around him as he swung again, and again, and again – until she finally fell to the ground, unrecognizable as a human being.

Jerome had little time to revel in his victory. Across the lot, Rachel repeatedly thrust the driver's side door of the Hummer outward, ineffectively smashing the creature against the gas pump. It was unphased and fought towards her every time she retracted the door, head flopping wildly.

"Get away from them!" Jerome bellowed, even though he knew it'd do no good. He ran across the lot and used all the strength he had to drive the forked end of the crowbar into the back of its skull. It faltered, then dropped to the ground.

Rachel fell against the seat, wheezing and sweeping the stray hairs off her sweaty face. Emma sat in the floor of the passenger seat with her arms wrapped around her knees, wide eyes flicking back and forth between her parents.

The crowbar clattered when it slipped from Jerome's limp hands. His stomach turned at the blood covering his torso. Too dark to be from a living person, yet he'd just beat it out of something that resembled a human.

"Jesus Christ," he panted. Despite his efforts to compose himself, tears formed in his eyes.

Rachel came and wrapped her arms around Jerome. Something inside of him broke at this gesture, and he had no control over the cries that escaped him.

"It's okay, Papa," Emma said shakily. She climbed out of the Hummer and stood at his side. "You saved us."

He pulled her close and buried his face against Rachel's shoulder.

Everyone at the Fort seemed to have their own horror story about what they went through to get there, but some part of Jerome had been in denial when he heard them. How could it be that it was all true? No power, everything ransacked and picked over, 'biters' all over the place. Jerome knew it must have been bad if there was a refugee center – that's why he insisted they go. The moment he heard of it, he packed his bags. He wasn't a survivalist and had no skills to keep his family safe with. Luck was how he got by. It was pure luck that got him to the Fort, it was luck that got him to the gas station, and luck that allowed him to take out two biters with nothing but a crowbar. All he had now was optimism that his luck wouldn't run out anytime soon.

After finding and devouring whatever snacks they found in the gas station, the Dufour family sat inside the idle Humvee. None of them looked forward to getting back on the road, but least of all Jerome. Decision making was not his forte, especially when their lives may depend on it. They'd spent the last few hours just trying to find food and fuel, but now it was time to think ahead.

"So…where do you think we should go?"

Surprised by his question, Rachel blinked. "I thought it was clear we're going to my sister's."

"Who said that?" Jerome asked, perplexed. "The only plan we've ever had is the Fort, we never talked about what would happen after."

She sighed. "I never thought we needed to."

"To tell you the truth, I don't think we could make it three hundred miles." Jerome regretted being so harsh as soon as the words were out of his mouth. It wasn't a nice thing to say in front of Emma, even if he believed it.

"What other choice do we have?"

Fearing how she'd react, Jerome shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well, I was thinking the mine – "

"The _mine_?" She repeated, face contorting as she tried in vain to conceal her irritation. "That's your big idea?"

"I don't think it'd be too bad. As long as we have a vehicle and can stock up on food, it could last us until this all blows over."

Rachel shook her head but said, "If you think it's best…"

Around her mouthful of Bugles, Emma suggested, "Maybe everything is okay at the Fort now. We could go back."

"I don't think so," Jerome said. Then, he leaned closer to Rachel and lowered his voice so only she could hear. "If I thought we could make it to your sister I'd do it in a heartbeat. But I think the mine is all we've got."

"Okay," Rachel replied, with more certainty in her voice. "Maybe you're right."

"Don't you know I'm always right?" Jerome attempted to lighten the mood even though his heart wasn't in it.

She playfully swatted him on the shoulder. "Let's get going. We can scavenge a little bit and make it there before dark if we're lucky."

Jerome started the engine and rolled out, gravel and dust trailing behind him. After driving for about half an hour, they were officially in the city of Fairbanks. Buildings straight out of the gold rush era sat on either side of the abandoned streets. A few 'sick ones' stood on the sidewalk, but Jerome continued until they were out of sight. Aside from the scenery, one nice thing about the apocalypse was being the only one on the road. Jerome made it to the shopping plaza in record time. Before, it would've taken another thirty minutes. He pulled up next to the privacy fence of the neighboring building, just far enough from the parking lot to see without being seen. Jerome counted _one, two, three, four, five, six_ , _seven_ biters before he lost track.

"Damn," he sighed. Fairbanks Plaza was the one place he knew like the back of his hand. The whole family did. It was where they went whenever they needed or wanted to do anything. Without maps or GPS, he had no idea where to go next and driving in circles didn't seem like a wise choice. Though he'd lived in the area for most of his life, he liked to stick to the rural suburbs. Unfortunately, he doubted there would be anything even worth looking for out there.

Rachel said, "The buildings look untouched. If we can find a way around them, we might've hit the jackpot."

"How many of them thought the same thing?" Something about the biters mesmerized Jerome. Unaware of his presence, they stumbled back and forth aimlessly. What went on in their heads when they weren't locked onto prey? Did they think? Was their humanity trapped inside there, like someone in a coma?

"I think it's worth a shot," Rachel insisted.

Unconvinced, Jerome fidgeted with his hands while he thought. On one hand, there was enough to loot in that mall to keep them stocked for a month. On the other, he wasn't sure it was worth their lives to get it.

"It should be easy enough to sneak around them. Besides, that crowbar seemed like a pretty good weapon."

Jerome froze as realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Sure, the crowbar was a good weapon, but it was laying in a gas station parking lot twenty miles back.

"You forgot the crowbar," Rachel deduced. She deflated back against her seat.

Emma said, "What about your knife, papa?"

It bothered him tremendously that his child was taking all this in. A ten-year-old should never have to assist her parents in figuring out how to defend themselves so they could loot a store. Nevertheless, it gave him an idea.

"Get the duct tape, Emma." Jerome reached into the side of his boot and retrieved the Ka-Bar. Its black blade glistened in the sunlight, most of the blood dried. He gently opened the door and stepped a foot out.

Rachel asked, "What are you doing?"

" _Shhh_!" He hissed. To his relief, none of the biters were even looking in their direction. He crept a few feet down the sidewalk to a tree and braced the knife against a branch just thick enough to serve as a spear. He sawed it from the tree in only a few seconds, then chopped the leafy end off before returning to his vehicle.

"Good idea," Rachel said.

Jerome retrieved the duct tape from Emma. Holding the stick between his knees, he lined up the knife at the end of it and wrapped duct tape around and around until he was certain it would hold. "Hopefully this will work."

Rachel unbuckled her seat belt. "Emma, you stay by me the whole time."

"Okay, mom."

Jerome added, "Noise seems to rile them up. We need to move fast and quiet."

Rachel said, "If we crouch along that wall, I bet we can sneak right past them and go in through the back."

A retaining wall bordered either end of the parking lot. It was pure coincidence that Jerome parked feet away from the closest one, but he was glad. "That'll work."

They filed out of the car on their tiptoes, tensely shutting the doors before gathering on the sidewalk. Jerome took the lead, with Rachel and Emma right behind him. They crouched down and scurried over to the barrier. Jerome peeked over the top and saw the biters were still unaware, then continued. As they approached the end of the wall and the backlot of the building became visible, Jerome stopped. A single biter stood a few feet from the door, his security guard uniform torn and tattered. A gun sat snugly in his holster, sunlight glinting off the steel. He would've preferred to find a way around him, but there came a point where running wasn't worth it anymore.

"You stay here while I take care of him," he whispered.

Rachel nodded and pulled Emma closer.

Jerome hurried forward and made it just past the corner of the building before the biter noticed him. Its teeth gnashed together as it desperately made its over. He thrust his makeshift spear right between the biter's eyes. The knife and duct tape folded like a cheap tent and fell to the ground, only angering the creature.

"Shit!" Jerome exclaimed, throwing the stick and moving out of its reach.

"They heard you," Rachel said, voice taut with barely contained panic. "They're coming!"

Jerome could hear the moans and snarls getting louder. He said a silent prayer as he ran around the security guard and retrieved his knife and stick. He pushed the stick against the biters chest until he hit the wall of the building. Barely evading it's clawing hands, Jerome lunged forward and drove the knife into it's skull. Just as it fell to the ground, five walkers came past the corner of the building.

"Come on!" Jerome called to his family. He snatched the gun out of it's holster and hurried to the door. When Rachel and Emma joined him, they rushed inside together.

Around them was nothing but shelves and cardboard boxes. They'd stumbled into the storage room of a clothing shop, by the looks of it. The only source of light came from the hopper windows at either end of the small room. Before they even had time to catch their breath, the biters were slamming themselves against the door. Rachel jumped into action and pushed one of the shelves in front of the door. This did little to help, and the shelf rocked back and forth as the door creaked against the pressure.

"They just don't stop," Rachel said. "That shelf isn't going to hold for long. We need to go."

Jerome removed the clip from the gun to see it had four bullets. "Stay behind me."

He walked to the double doors and tried to peek through the windows in them. Beyond them was almost nothing but darkness, a few spots of light here and there from the windows. Jerome slowly pushed one of the doors open and listened, thankful to hear silence. They continued through the shop, not stopping to scavenge since there was nothing but clothes and accessories around. As they passed the register and the main entrance became visible, Rachel walked over to a map of the mall beside the door.

She found the 'you are here' dot and tapped a store two squares down. "Bass Pro Shops. I bet there will be some stuff we can use there."

"Good thinking," Jerome said.

He opened the door just enough to see out. To his relief, not a single biter was in sight. He stepped outside and stayed close to the building, waiting until Rachel and Emma were right behind him to continue. They passed another clothing store before reaching their goal. Jerome stepped up to one of the front windows and peered inside. Though it was dark, he didn't see any movement ins He nodded to Rachel and they went inside.

At first, they just wandered past boat and clothing, then Jerome saw it: the hunting and firearms section. Dozens of guns inside glass cases, shelves upon shelves of ammunition, racks of rifles, and hunting knives hanging from hooks. All of it untouched.

Jerome and Rachel shared a look of disbelief before they rushed forward. Rachel moved to a display of outdoor backpacks and tossed one to Jerome before grabbing one for herself.

"Let's take only what we need," Jerome said. "I feel guilty enough we can't pay for anything."

"Jerome," Rachel said in disbelief. "Screw that. No one's going to come in here and arrest us, I promise."

He huffed. "I know that, but shouldn't we leave something for other people?"

"We can't take it all anyway, there's too much. We should take everything we can, though."

"Alright," he sighed.

"Papa look what I found." Emma reappeared at the end of a gun display holding two heavy duty flashlights. She pushed the buttons and they both turned on, LED beams slicing through the darkness.

Jerome couldn't help but smile. He held the bag open. "Nice find, my chérie! Toss 'em in."

Rachel stood at one of the three gun cases, drumming her fingers against the glass. "Do you think it'll make too much noise if I bust it?"

"As far as we are into the store, I don't think so. Just be careful."

Rachel searched for something to break it with for a few moments before deciding a gun would have to do. She removed a rifle from it's shelf and only hit the case twice before it shattered.

"That was easy enough," Jerome commented. He joined her as she cleared the rest of the glass. "Keep in mind we'll have to carry all this back to the Humvee."

"I wish we could get it closer. We could take a lot more." She pulled out a pistol, tagged as a Glock .45, and placed it into her bag.

"I know. Damn biters." Jerome took two other handguns before he headed over to the ammunition shelves. He took the flashlight out and shone it along the various boxes. Before long he had three boxes of ammunition for each of their new weapons.

"I can carry something too," Emma offered.

Rachel replied, "There has to be food somewhere in this place. You can carry that."

"Great." Emma grinned and pulled a backpack off the display to match her parents. It looked comically large on her and hung to her rump, but she put her arms through the straps nonetheless.

"What types of rifles are over there, Rachel?"

Rachel squinted at the tags and read off a few. Jerome stopped her when she got to "Remington 30-06…"

"Take two of those," he told her. He didn't have much knowledge of guns, but he'd used those as a kid to hunt with his dad. He looked until he found the corresponding ammo, then tossed three boxes into his bag. By now it was considerably heavy in his arms, so he zipped it up and put it on. The weight was uncomfortable, but he decided to power through. These things were far too valuable to leave behind. In fact, it frustrated him to walk away from so many other guns and knives, but it was too much of a risk to get the Hummer. They needed the trip to be as short as possible. He feared taking two trips would draw the attention of the biters at the back, who were surely getting bored by now.

They moved on from the hunting section, passing by the fishing equipment and more clothing before they reached a food display. It was mostly snacks and junk food but Jerome filled Emma's backpack with it anyway.

After that, Jerome decided their shopping trip had to come to an end. The mood was much happier as they approached the front of the store than it had been when they entered.

"This is incredible," Rachel commented. "We've got enough firepower to form our own army."

"Hopefully we won't have to," he replied.

Just as Jerome was about to push the door open, he froze at the sound of distant gunfire.

"Do you think – " Rachel got cut off by an explosion like Jerome had never experienced. He felt the blast in his chest as it knocked all three of them to the ground. The glass from the front of the building rained in on them. Jerome peeked through stinging eyes to see Rachel and Emma a few feet away, helping each other up. Rachel's eyes locked with his. Her lips moved but Jerome couldn't make out any words over the ringing in his ears. Feeling a sense of urgency, he used a nearby column to pull himself up. The weight on his shoulders made it difficult, but he made it after a couple attempts.

Emma pointed to her mother's head and Rachel pressed a hand to the bloody gash that sat at her hairline. Her eyes locked onto something outside, not visible from Jerome's position.

She turned to him and yelled, "Run!"

A dozen or more biters surged through the dust and debris, apparently unbothered. Still dazed, Jerome fumbled to get the revolver from his waistband. His hand shook when he tried to line up the leading biter in his sights. He fired twice, both rounds missing the mark.

"Just go, we can outrun them!" Rachel yelled. Glass crunched under their feet as the family ran out where the doors used to be. The formerly pristine plaza looked like a warzone. The windows of every neighboring shop laid shattered on the ground, biters stumbling out from the holes. Splinters of wood and other building materials fell around them. As Jerome managed to shoot a nearing biter in the chest, he peered through the to find the source of squealing tires.

A short school bus sped across the street and into the parking lot. Instinctually, Jerome stepped in front of Emma as it slammed to a stop in a few feet from them. The doors slid open. In the driver's seat sat a young man with a red bandana wrapped around his dark hair.

"Get in!" he hollered.

Meer inches from being a biter's meal, Jerome had no time to consider. He dragged Emma with him, Rachel following closely. The man closed the doors as soon as they were on. Biters slammed against the door and began to climb onto the hood.

"Hang on," the man said. He shifted gears and stomped the pedal to the metal. Jerome fell to the floor with his wife and daughter as the bus lurched forward. Several of the biter's were plowed down, sickening crunches replacing their groans. Just as Jerome managed to get himself to his knees, a woman stomped forward from the back. She shoved the muzzle of a pistol against his temple.

"Move again and I'll blow your brains out."

* * *

Ben balanced three paper plates of dove on his arm as he entered the trailer. Despite the growling in his belly, food was the last thing on his mind. He set the plates on the table before plopping into the booth.

"Finally." Dad dug into the meat as soon as he could.

"There's something I have to tell you," Ben said. He picked at the torn leather of his seat. Time was of the essence and his was running out. Letting Dad into the loop was a necessary evil, even if Ben would rather have kept him in the dark.

Immediately on edge, Dad stopped eating. "What is it?"

"Kate has schizophrenia."

"Since when?"

"Most off her life. She got diagnosed when she was seventeen. The thing is, you can't tell when she has her medication. We'd been married for years before I even found out."

Quiet enveloped the trailer, so much that Ben could hear the rest of the group chatting outside. With a knot in his stomach, Ben waited for his father to react. Dad just sat gnawing his lip. Was he actually _angry_ about Kate having schizophrenia? Now it made sense why she was always so adamant to keep her diagnosis a secret.

Understanding dawned on Dad's face. "She's out of her medication."

Relief washed over Ben. "Right. So, I need to get to the city and find some."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"No. You saw this morning what happens when she's left unattended."

Dad guessed, "You want me to babysit her."

"Just stay with her. Distract her, make sure she eats and doesn't wander off."

Dad scoffed. "You have lost your damn mind."

"Don't make this any harder for me than it already is," Ben pleaded. "I wasn't asking for permission here."

"No, you're just asking me to babysit an unmedicated schizophrenic. One that you've told everyone is just dehydrated, at that."

"I said that because the last thing I need is everyone freaking out about it." At the end of the day, Ben still barely knew these people. Trust was something to be earned and only a few of them had so far.

Dad rubbed his chin. "But going by yourself to the city…"

"I'll be fine," Ben insisted. "All I've got to do is find a pharmacy and take all the Thorazine they have."

"Nothing is ever that simple," Dad reasoned. "I admit I haven't been in the city much. But I think you need to sleep on this."

Ben pinched off a piece of dove and cautiously popped it into his mouth. _Huh. Tastes like chicken._ "I'm heading out as soon as I'm done eating."

"You're going _today_?" Dad exclaimed.

"What do you want me to do, wait until she wanders off again?"

"I want you to think," Dad replied, thumping his finger on the table. "Going by yourself is bad enough, but you don't know what could happen. Do you want to get stuck in the city at night? With no power and no one to help you?"

"I'll take a radio if that will make you feel better."

Exasperated, Dad shook his head. "I dread the day you find out you're not invincible."

Ben snickered. "I've made it forty-two years in this world."

"Not in _this_ world, you haven't."

Having finished his meal, Ben rose from the table and headed towards his backpack on the counter.

"What's gonna happen to Kate if you don't come back?"

This question stopped Ben in his tracks. He looked out the window to see 'his people' gathered in the clearing. Everyone was there for the most part, except for Dean. What would happen to _them_ if he didn't come back? Clarence made for a good right-hand-man, but Ben had his doubts that he'd be able to handle things permanently. In the past month, he'd somehow become responsible not just for his own family's lives, but for ten other people too.

Before Ben could answer, something caused the whole trailer to shake. The windows rattled in their frames, and Ben saw that everyone outside noticed it as well. He wondered for a moment if it was thunder, but there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

"Ben, look!" Dad called. His nose was practically pressed against the glass as he tried to get a better look at something.

Ben rushed to the table and leaned to look out the window. In the distance, a tall plume of smoke billowed in the distance. It was dark and angry, and big enough to tell him this was no ordinary house fire.

"That can't be good."


	2. Life is the Traveler

 

* * *

"Are you still going out there?"

"Dad…not now." Running a hand down his haggard face, Ben moved to peek out the window that faced the clearing. Samantha, Peggy, Lauren, and Keisha sat at the picnic table, forgotten remnants of their card game strewn on the table as they discussed the smoke in hushed voices. Plates of dove bones dotted every surface, including the ground. Dean slowly emerged from the dining trailer to join Clarence and Jake in the shade of the spruces.

Ben led the way outside, Dad following closely. No sooner than the door shut behind them, the window to the sleeping quarters popped open. Kate leaned out, fighting against the breeze to keep her hair out of her face.

"Any ideas as to what the hell that was?" she asked. Despite the situation, Ben smiled. _That_ was his Kate. Everything about her was different from her earlier, from the tone of her voice to the look in her eyes. How much of earlier did she remember? She never talked about it. Maybe when her schizophrenia flared up she was like a walker, acting but not aware. Though it made him feel bad, Ben hoped that was the case. At least then he could know she wasn't suffering.

"Maybe it was military," Samantha suggested hopefully. "Anyone remember the rumors that big cities were getting napalmed?"

Though there was no joy in it, Clarence chuckled. "Honey, that wasn't napalm."

"How do you know?"

"Ever heard of Operation Rolling Thunder?"

Courtney moved away from her and Aaliyah's tic-tac-toe game in the dirt to join the conversation, face alight with wonder. "Were you there? My brother was a war buff and he talked about that all the time."

"Yeah," Clarence replied, stiffly crossing his arms. "Yeah, I was. And I can assure you, whatever that is has nothing to do with napalm."

"Well, I'm pretty concerned by it," Kate yawned. "I can't think of any situation where an explosion is a good thing."

Jake anxiously rubbed the back of his neck. "Kind of makes me worried about future runs."

"No kidding. Good thing it'll be a week or two before we have to go out again," Lauren agreed. She looked at the dove carcasses around her with a sour expression. "As long as we don't hunt the game around here to extinction."

Ben felt his father staring a hole into him, but he refused to turn around and give him the time of day. Once Dad had his mind made up about something, there was no reasoning with him, and Ben wasn't in the mood to argue in circles. Mustering as much professionalism as he could, he said, "Let's not think of it as a good thing or a bad thing. Chances are it'll never affect us one way or the other."

"It's kind of hard to ignore," Keisha said, eyeing the gray mass warily. She pulled Aaliyah over to her as if the smoke was going to swoop down and take her little girl.

Gathering the remnants of their card game, Peggy stood from the table. "We have plenty to occupy our minds. Might as well get to it."

"Don't you think we should investigate?" Samantha questioned Ben, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Nope," he replied curtly. "Peggy is right. Get on with your lives."

"Don't you mean _we_ should investigate, Samantha?" Jake asked wryly, motioning to himself and Lauren.

Samantha's cheeks went beet red. "Um…I didn't mean that like it sounded. It's just th-that you two know how to handle yourselves in the city."

"Seems like we're the only ones."

"Jake," Lauren warned, brows knitted together. "That's enough."

"Everyone's here," Jake countered "What better time to talk about the division of labor?"

Though his patience with Jake had been wearing thin for a while, Ben decided he'd rather get this out of the way before heading out. "What about it?"

Whether Jake was proud of embarrassed to have all eyes on him, Ben couldn't tell. He squared his shoulders. "Sometimes Clarence comes along, but for the most part it's just me and Lauren scavenging. We risk our lives to get the things this group needs to survive, then we come back and everyone else is living like we're in summer camp. Lauren's the only woman around here that does anything."

"Excuse me?" Peggy shouted overtop everyone else's objections. "You might think you're hot shit because you carry a gun and brought us back some toothpaste, but don't you worry about the rest of us pulling our weight."

Jake's crooked grin expanded to a laugh. "You know, it's ironic _you're_ the most offended one. How was the poker tournament?"

"I'll give you something to laugh about." Peggy stood from the table but Samantha pulled her back down.

"Oh, I'm petrified," Jake sneered. "Maybe you were a badass back in the day but acting like that at your age is just pathetic."

"Come over here and see if I'm acting."

"I'll knock you on your fat ass."

At that, Dean stormed forward, tearing past the attempts to stop him, until he'd backed Jake against a tree. "Listen here, little boy. If you ever threaten my wife again, you're gonna be a strange smell in the scrapyard."

"Enough!" Ben hollered, slamming his fist against the side of the trailer. It amazed him how quickly things could spiral out of control when scared, hungry people started arguing. "Believe me when I say I'll let you know if I think someone's not pulling their weight. Until then, unless you have something constructive to say, you can keep this shit to yourselves."

Jake took a step away from Dean, gaze firmly on his shoes. He cleared his throat. "I shouldn't have brought it up in front of everyone. Sorry."

Ben didn't know if Jake genuinely regretted causing such a mess or he was just tucking his tail between his legs because he didn't win. In any case, Ben was over it. There were more important things he had to focus on. Taking a deep breath to get his impatience under control, Ben pushed down his anger just enough so he could act like he cared about anything going on.

"As difficult as the smoke is to ignore, we need to carry on. Business as usual. Focus on dinner, chores, play tiddlywinks, I don't really care."

Slowly but surely, they went their separate ways. Samantha returned to her sentry atop the Peterson's trailer, Dad went back inside to join Kate, and Jake practically ran to his and Lauren's trailer.

"Dinner is going isn't going to be a feast tonight," Peggy warned once most of the group had departed. "Just whatever I can throw together with what's left of the canned goods."

"That's fine," Ben said. Considering it was prime hunting season, part of Ben wondered why Dean wasn't out more. But he certainly wasn't about to bring it up.

Just as Ben was about to go inside and finish packing his bag, Clarence called, "You got a minute?"

Rolling his eyes, Ben turned around to see Clarence strolling over, hands in his pockets. "What do you need?"

"Thought you might want to go check that walker hotspot in the scrapyard," Clarence said. When Ben looked confused, he added, "I want to talk."

"Alright," Ben replied, careful to hide his true desire, which was to leave without another word. Every time one thing got cleared up and he thought he would finally be able to go get Kate's medicine, something else came up. But since the world ended he was the boss full time, with shifts that never ended.

They walked side by side to the ATV. Ben climbed into the driver's seat and waited until Clarence was buckled into the passenger side before he started the engine.

"What's going on?" Ben pressed. He squinted against the sinking sun as he drove out of camp and onto the scrapyard path.

"I think I contribute my fair share to this camp," Clarence began, voice raised over the noise of the motor. "Me and my family are the first ones you brought back here, and I appreciate that. Had you left us on the side of the road like everyone else, lord only knows where we'd be."

"What are you getting at?" Ben asked, his anxiety mounting with this new surge of guilt. Helping the Evans had been completely at Kate's insistence. Ben wasn't proud that he wanted to drive right by them, but by that point he was in survival mode.

"I've been left out quite a bit lately and I don't care for it. Samantha gave me my radio like you asked, and Keisha's the one that told me about Kate."

Ben glanced at Clarence to see he was completely composed, hands folded in his lap. "There's more to this, isn't there?"

"Yeah, because it's not just today that's bothering me. A few weeks ago, you decided the guns should be in Jake and Lauren trailer. That rubbed me the wrong way for a couple reasons. Then they bring back Samantha and you just let that girl take over guard duty. I mean, she's sweet, but I think she'd crap herself if anything actually happened."

"I'm just trying to do what I think is best. I didn't think it'd be a good idea for guns to be in your trailer since you've got a kid. And Samantha, well...Dad hated guard duty, and I don't know what else she could do."

"That's the problem. You're just calling the shots."

"They're my shots to call," Ben said, anger bubbling under the surface. Leafless branches whipped his arms and face no matter how many times he tried to dodge them.

"I'm either your right hand man or I ain't."

This statement caused Ben's heart to sink. His other right hand man said the same thing when the mine was running, albeit much more sheepishly. What he said had some truth to it, even if Ben didn't like the way he went about it. "You're right. I shouldn't cut you out since you're helping me run this place. I'll try to keep that in mind."

"Okay," Clarence nodded, satisfied. "Keisha wanted me to ask you what we're going to do with the weather getting so cold, but we can save that for later if you want."

"Tell her I can't control the weather."

"Don't get attitude with me," Clarence snapped. "We do need to talk about it."

"Not today. I'm gonna be heading out soon."

"Heading out?" Clarence stared at Ben as though he was growing a second head. "Where are you going this close to dark?"

"Kate needs some things. I'm going to get them."

"Who are you taking with you?"

Ben snorted, shaking his head out of exasperation. "I just had this conversation with my dad. I'm going by myself, no you can't stop me, no you can't go with me, and yes I'll take a walkie talkie."

"Fine," Clarence shrugged, relaxing back into his seat. "Can you at least tell me the truth?"

"Excuse me?"

"Dehydrated people need fluids and vitamins, both of which we have. What are you really going to the city for?"

As he drove the final stretch to the scrapyard, Ben considered telling the truth. Clarence was a married man, maybe he'd understand. It would make things so much easier if he did, and it'd be good to have a second pair of eyes to watch out for Kate while he was gone. However, as much as he trusted Clarence with camp affairs and firearms, he wasn't certain it was worth the risk to tell him anything about Kate's condition.

Ben slowed the ATV and parked it just inside the scrapyard. After a moment, he said, "I'm going to the city to get some things for Kate."

"Okay." Clarence's moustache twitched before he grinned. He unbuckled his seatbelt and exited the ATV. "If that's your story."

Ben trailed after him into the scrapyard. It was clear that there were no walkers at the fence, but they might as well take care of any that were wandering down the road.

"We oughta bury that." Clarence pointed to the walker from earlier before pinching his nose.

All of her brain matter was dried against the surrounding dirt, while her decayed flesh had cooked in the sun all day. Countless flies buzzed around her remains, and for the first time, Ben found himself relating to a walker. Isolation was just part of his job before the outbreak. Mining seasons were full of it, with the camp's distance from the city and the tiny crew he managed. Not many people wanted to befriend the boss. But these days, he felt more alone than he ever had in his life. Everyone either had a bone to pick, a demand to make, or were disappointed with him for whatever reason. And now, the one person he had left, his rock for the past twenty years, was out of her mind all because of him.

* * *

"Carmen, stop it!"

Jerome didn't dare move a muscle. This woman - Carmen, evidently - was not messing around. That much was clear from the way she looked at him, fury and distrust shining in her eyes. All the action movies in the world couldn't have prepared him for actually staring down the barrel of a gun.

Rachel tried, "We don't want to - "

"Bitch, did I ask for your opinion?"

"Leave my dad alone!" Emma demanded, right before bursting into tears. She leapt from her seat and wrapped her arms around Rachel.

"God dammit," the driver grunted. He stopped the bus right in the middle of the road and stomped over to their captor. "Give it to me."

She made no move to hand the gun over. "I told you not to help them!"

"And I told you to stop it," he replied. "You're scaring the kids."

"You're going to get me killed." Grudgingly, Carmen gave him the weapon. She stormed back to her seat at the end of the bus and plopped down beside a little boy. He was no more than four or five years old and sat with his knees pulled up to his chest. Tears welled in his eyes but did not overflow. Jerome suspected this wasn't his first time dealing with such a situation.

The man slid the gun onto the dashboard then extended a hand to Jerome. "I'm sorry about her."

Gingerly, Jerome allowed the stranger to pull him to his feet. The copious amount of handguns in his bag had squashed all feeling out of shoulders. Unable to take it anymore, he shrugged it off and set it in the closest seat.

Bending down to face-level with Emma, the man said, "You don't have to be scared, okay? I didn't help you just to let my sister hurt you."

Rachel glared at him, arms wrapped protectively around her daughter. "I sincerely hope not."

He sighed, shifting awkwardly. "Let's start over. My name is Brandon Woods. That's my sister, Carmen and my son, Adrian."

Jerome always tried to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. Although the alternative was worse, Carmen's actions combined with the 'lights are on but nobody's home' look in her eyes almost made him wish they'd never got on the bus. After a moment of hesitation, he shook Brandon's outstretched hand. "I'm Jerome Dufour. This is my wife, Rachel, and our daughter Emma."

"Nice to meet you," Brandon replied cheerfully. "What's that accent?"

"Oh, I'm French," Jerome said, surprised that Brandon was going to ask about it now. "Kind of. My parents were French immigrants. I've lived in Alaska my whole life, but the accent just kind of stuck."

"That's cool. My mom was a Filipino immigrant."

Carmen called, "Are we gonna make a family tree or would you like to get us away from those walkers?"

The remaining parking lot biters ambled towards them. They weren't close enough to worry Jerome, but he just wanted to get away from that god-forsaken plaza before anything else happened.

"Right." Brandon returned to the driver's seat. "Make yourselves comfortable."

Jerome couldn't look away when Brandon turned on the window wipers. Guts, blood, and God knows what else smeared back and forth. Some chunks fell off while others just seemed to get ground in. The sounds of crunching bones rang in his ears. His gaze moved from the mess to the biters in the parking lot. Some of the ones they crushed during their escape laid in piles. He didn't tear his eyes away until Brandon put the vehicle back in gear and drove on.

As quickly as Emma had been upset, she calmed down. She plopped down in the seat across from her father and dug into her backpack full of snacks. "Want some jerky, Papa?"

"Yes, please." Jerome caught the pack she tossed him and tore it open. The delectable smell of meat hit him, and reminded him how hungry he was.

No sooner than Rachel sat beside him, she gasped. "Your arm!"

Jerome looked down to see the sleeve of his left arm saturated with blood. Panic surged through him as he dropped the jerky and fumbled to pull up the sleeve, brain racing for any moment where he could've been bit. He winced as the cloth scraped over the mark, realizing that was the first time he'd felt any pain from that area. A gash lay beneath, whelped and bloody. Shards of glass embedded in his skin twinkled like glitter. Jerome deflated against the seat, grateful it wasn't a bite.

"What's going on?" Brandon asked, unable to see from the driver's seat.

"Jerome's got a pretty bad cut from the glass. Do you have any tweezers?"

Carmen rushed forward and peered over the seat, so close Jerome felt her breath against his hair.

"It is a cut," she confirmed snidely.

"Leave 'em alone, would you?" Brandon snapped. More softly, he added, "No tweezers. All of our first aid stuff got used up a while ago."

"We've got bigger things to worry about right now." Jerome gently pushed away his wife's prodding hands and went back to his food. "Does anyone know what that was back there?"

"Gas explosion?" Brandon guessed. "I saw a movie one time where the bad guy shot a gas tank and it sounded just like that."

"Was that you shooting? I heard gunfire right before it happened," Rachel said.

"Yeah, a couple walkers jumped out at me. But I don't think we're what caused it, because you guys look a lot worse off than us."

"I appreciate you coming to get us...but how did you know we were there?" Jerome implored around a mouthful of jerky.

"We were raiding the apartment building across the street. I was upstairs when I saw you guys drive up. We were just about to head out when everything happened."

Carmen sniggered. She leaned further against their seat. "My good Samaritan little brother couldn't mind his own business and the rest is history."

"Well...I'm glad," Rachel decided. "You wouldn't believe the day we've had."

"I know how hard it can be when you've got a small group." Brandon glanced at Emma and lowered his voice. "And little ones."

That comment didn't escape Emma. Her brows furrowed. "Hey, I'm not little!"

"My bad," Brandon said apologetically. "Anyway, are you guys staying somewhere around here? I can drop you off if it's not far."

"Uh..." Rachel shared a hesitant look with Jerome. "Not really."

"No? "Where are you from then?" Brandon swerved around a walker in the road, everyone leaning with the motion.

Jerome said, "We were at the refugee center, Fort McAdams. Someone came in and told us we had to leave, then someone started shooting. It was all downhill from there." Letting strangers know how vulnerable they were didn't seem wise, yet it felt wrong to lie to a person that just saved his family's lives. Even so, they didn't have to know all the details.

"No shit? Oh man." Brandon ran a hand down his face, suddenly dispirited. "That's been our goal since the beginning. We came all the way from Palmer."

" _Your_ goal," Carmen corrected. "Guess it's a good thing we never made it there. I told you those places are doomed."

Brandon stayed quiet. He pulled the bus over and turned to face Jerome. He looked hopeless, but clearly tried to keep on a happy face. "To tell you the truth, we're just drifters. We do what we can and live out of this bus. If what you're saying about Fort McAdams is true...we don't really have a plan B. So, if there's somewhere you'd like to be dropped off, don't be shy."

Carmen gripped the seat until her knuckles went white. "I know we're on a bus but we aren't public transit."

"What do you want me to do, drop them off on the side of the road?"

"Sure."

Jerome leaned in close to Rachel, confident neither one would hear them over their own bickering. He whispered, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

" _I_ think we should get as far away from them as soon as possible. From the look on your face, I can tell that's not what you're thinking."

"Brandon can get us there and there's plenty of room for them. It's the right thing to do."

Rachel huffed irritably. "The right thing is the what keeps us alive, not what makes you comfortable."

"We owe them," he hissed.

Rachel exhaled heavily. "Okay."

"We actually have a plan B," Jerome interrupted their arguing. "I was a miner and I think our last site is perfect. That's where we were headed."

"A miner? I didn't know people still did that," Brandon said.

Jerome couldn't help but laugh. Mining had been his life for so long it was hard to imagine that some people still thought of it as pans and pickaxes. "Well, we do. Red Fox Mine is about thirty miles from here. It took me two hours to find it the first time."

Brandon anxiously ran a hand through the hair that wasn't contained within his bandana. "I'm sorry, but thirty miles is a long way…"

"Wait a minute," Carmen held her hand up. "This place sounds pretty good. Since my brother so graciously risked his life to save yours, I don't think it'd be too much to ask if - "

"We agree," Jerome interrupted. "You're welcome to stay with us if you like the place."

"Good call, Frenchie." Carmen slapped him on the shoulder before returning to her seat.

"Jesus," Jerome muttered, rubbing the stinging sensation out of his already sore shoulder.

"You're a good guy," Brandon said. "I appreciate you giving us a chance after...you know. Not everyone has been so kind."

 _If you know what I did to escape the Fort, you wouldn't think of me as kind._ Heat rushed up Jerome's neck at the thought. He mumbled a quick response before turning his attention to Rachel.

She tentatively lifted his arm, studying it pensively. What hadn't been absorbed by his sleeve had dried on his arm, a bright scarlet color against his porcelain complexion.

"Think I'll need stitches?"

"We should just focus on getting the glass out."

Jerome took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Being a clumsy man, this was the third time in his life he'd gotten glass into some part of his body. At least this time it wasn't his fault, but he didn't look forward to whatever makeshift solution Rachel had in mind.

"There has to be a pharmacy around here somewhere," said Brandon. "We should look for some more supplies anyway."

"You don't have to stop just because of me," Jerome interjected. "I'll be fine.

Brandon waved his hand dismissively. "Dude, it's nothing. We're used to going somewhere, getting what we need, and getting out. It hasn't killed us yet."

"Yet," Jerome repeated, shaking his head. "If you insist."

"I do."

"Me too," Rachel added. "You could get a pretty nasty infection if you don't take care of it."

Jerome decided to stop fighting it. As much as he hated being the center of attention, he also hated the thought of glass indefinitely embedded in his skin. He look to the gash on Rachel's forehead. Much thinner than his own, but could probably use a butterfly bandage. "You're not doing so well yourself."

"I'll be fine after I have a full belly and a night's sleep." She reached into her trail mix bag from Emma and pulled out a handful of nuts and raisins.

* * *

Peggy retrieved two cans of beans from the canned goods tub and set them on the windowsill. She recognized how fortunate they were to have an actual stove available, even if it was in a smelly 10' by 20' trailer with various piles of junk. Dean had brought some of his things in earlier, but he'd stayed busy since the incident with Jake. It wasn't often Peggy was speechless, but the way he came at Jake surprised her, and she was glad they hadn't been alone together.

The door squeaked open and Courtney took a step inside. "I'm not a baby anymore," she began, fidgeting nervously. "You guys don't have to hide things from me."

With a roll of her eyes, Peggy retrieved the can opener from it's drawerer and started on the nearest can. "Let me guess, you noticed Grandpa coming in and out of here earlier."

"Heard you arguing, actually." Courtney moved to the card table and took a seat. "I think everyone did. But I only heard a little bit before I took Aaliyah to the creek."

"You've been spending a lot of time with her." The beans plopped as Peggy dumped them into the pot. Their consistency was somewhere between tapioca pudding and a milkshake, which made her wonder if they were any good.

Courtney shrugged. "I don't mind babysitting. It gives me something to do."

"Fair enough."

"So…what's going on?"

Peggy dumped the other can of beans into the pot and stirred it slowly, using the time to think. All of a sudden she was parenting a teenager, something she hadn't done since the late seventies. For all of their similarities there were a hundred ways Courtney and her mother were opposites. "Maybe you should ask Grandpa."

"I couldn't find him."

Although she didn't want to talk about it, Peggy was slightly offended that Courtney really did try to talk to Dean first. "Alright. You're fifteen now, so I guess you're old enough for the truth."

"Okay," Courtney replied hesitantly.

"Your grandfather and I think it's best if we spend some time apart. That's awfully difficult to do in a two-room trailer, so we're going to sleep separately for a while."

"It's because of what happened, isn't it?"

"Of course, it is," Peggy snapped. "That's not something I'm just going to get over. I'm surprised you have."

"You're too hard on him," Courtney said, unable to meet her grandmother's gaze. "He had to do it. She would have turned – "

"We don't know that!" Peggy slammed her fists against the stovetop, causing the pot to nearly fall off its burner. "What's the rule?"

"But – "

"You know the rule," Peggy bellowed. The veins in her neck created a map, one that lead to her flushed face. "We don't talk about it!"

"Maybe I want to, did you ever think of that?" Courtney countered, her voice small and meek compared to before. "That was my mom."

"And you're okay that your grandfather blew her brains out. What does that say about _you_?"

Tears welled in Courtney's eyes. Her bottom lip quivered.

"Don't cry now or I'll give you something to cry for. If I talked to my grandma the way you talk to me, I'd have been backhanded into a past life. You should count your lucky stars I'm not that kind of person."

"Y-You never listen."

Peggy turned the fire down so this tiff could have her full attention. She turned, hands on her hips. With an intensity Courtney had never seen, Peggy spoke through clenched teeth. " I've tried to forgive him, I've tried to rationalize what he did. But your grandfather is a murderer, and I can't overlook that. He murdered my girl. Shot her right in the head. He disgusts me. And I never thought I'd see the day, but _you_ disgust me for supporting him."

"You're crazy," Courtney said between sobs. She stood and dashed out the door, weaving around the other survivors until she got to her family's trailer. Once inside, she retrieved her satchel from the sleeping quarter cabinets. She searched through it, tears blurring her vision, until she found her photo album. She flipped through it until she found her favorite picture, the one she looked at every night before she went to sleep. With both of her parents, both older brothers and herself. How was she the only one left? What was God punishing her for? She went to church every Sunday, never took her cross necklace off, did her best not to sin. And yet, she'd practically lost everything. Death would have been more merciful. She held the photo to her chest and collapsed onto the bed,

Someone knocked on the door and she froze, wondering what to do. Grandma wouldn't dare knock, but Grandpa would, and she didn't want to talk to anyone. She wiped the tears from her eyes the best as she could and returned the album to its place before opening the door. To her surprise, Keisha was on the other side.

"Hi." Keisha smiled sympathetically. "Can I come in?"

Courtney searched her eyes for judgement but saw nothing but warmth and sincerity. Unable to force formalities out of herself, she nodded absently and stepped aside.

Keisha entered and hovered awkwardly by the door, a sense of uncertainty about her Courtney had never seen before. She slowly slid into the dinette booth. "I wanted to talk to you."

Courtney joined her, fiddling nervously with her hands under the table. "About what?"

"I'm not a therapist, but I did teach eleventh grade world history for nine years. I know a hurting teenager when I see one. Your Grandmother might not listen, but if you ever need someone to, I will."

"You don't have to do this." Running through camp in tears surely produced all kinds of thoughts in Courtney's fellow survivors, but she was most ashamed that they must pity her.

"I know."

Courtney set her gaze on the woods beyond the window. A pair of wrens pecked between the roots of their claimed spruce tree. Life as usual for them, while all the humans were suffering in some way. Courtney confessed, "Grandma has changed."

"How so?"

"She didn't used to be such a…" Courtney struggled to find a word she could say in front of an adult. "Bitter person. We all used to be really close and now she won't even let me mention my parents or my brothers. I'm just supposed to forget about them and I don't want to do that. They deserve to be remembered."

"You're absolutely right. Maybe it's best to respect the way your grandmother feels right now, for your own sake. But you certainly don't have to forget them." Keisha paused, shifting in her seat. "If you don't want to answer this, don't feel like you have to. But I couldn't help overhearing and I just have to wonder…what did your grandpa do that has Peggy so mad at him?"

Courtney's eyes welled up again as the memories came back in a flood. She wiped her eyes and sat up straighter, pushing the feelings down. "Before Jake found us at that gas depot, my mom was with us. We were staying in a hotel with some other people. Mom got bit one day while trying to get food with Grandpa. We waited all day, but Mom just kept getting worse, then she fell asleep and Grandpa noticed she stopped breathing. He told me to go outside, and I know he…took care of it. Grandma doesn't believe she would have turned."

Keisha blinked against the tears pricking her eyes. She cleared her throat. "I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine."

"That was over a month ago and I still have nightmares every night. Not just with my mom, but my brothers too."

"Were they there?"

Courtney shook her head. "Brian was in the Air Force and was still in Iraq when the outbreak happened. Dustin went to University of California. My mom tried to get a hold of them right up until the lines went down but she never could. We tried to keep our hopes up but after a while we knew the chances of ever seeing them again aren't good. All of us except Grandma."

"Your Grandma has chosen one extreme by refusing to believe bad things are happening. You don't have to go the other extreme and refuse to believe good things can still happen."

"Baghdad is five thousand six hundred and twenty-seven miles from Fairbanks," Courtney exclaimed. Keisha's suggestion was preposterous, as much as she would've liked to believe it. "Five _thousand_ miles. We didn't even make it ten miles before my mom got bit."

"I'm not saying your brother is going to show up in Fairbanks tomorrow. I wish he would for your sake. But we don't know what the rest of the world is like, Courtney. Iraq could be holding their own. Besides, your brother is in the armed forces. I'm married to a former military man, and I can assure you they do not give up without one heck of a fight."

"What about a philosophy major at UCLA?"

"There's no way to know for sure right now. One thing that is certain is you're still alive. Their memory, no matter what, will live on in you. I bet you have qualities of all of them."

Courtney sighed. Though she appreciated what Keisha was trying to do, false hope didn't seem like the way to go. "I just wish Grandma would accept that Grandpa had to do what he did."

"How does she think people turn if not after they're bitten?" Keisha asked, tipping her head with curiosity.

"I have no idea," Courtney replied. She had stopped trying to figure that out long ago. Grandma never explained, and given her hostility on the subject, no one ever asked.

"Well, everyone has dealt with this in their own way. She'll come around."

"I hope so." After a few moments of silence, Courtney added, "Thanks for talking to me."

"Anytime. And I mean that," Keisha said, locking eyes with Courtney. "You know where we live."

"I really appreciate that. Thank you." Courtney reached out and grabbed Keisha by the wrist as she stood up. "You can't go yet! You haven't told me anything."

Keisha blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Friendship is a two way street. I told you about me, now you have to tell me about you."

"Fair enough." Keisha sat back down. She drummed her fingers on the table thoughtfully for a few moments. "Okay, I've got one. I'm really glad you and Aaliyah get along so well."

Courtney scoffed, tucking a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear. Before she could speak, Keisha held a hand up to stop her.

"Aaliyah can be a handful. At least when you watch her, I can help cook or clean up. What Jake said earlier is true, at least for me. In a single day, I went from being a career woman to a stay at home mom. And that's all I know how to do. I can't hunt, I can't fish, I don't like guns, I can't handle myself in the city…" Keisha trailed off. She shrugged,, a sadness in her eyes. "All the skills I worked so hard to have mean don't mean anything anymore."

* * *

Glass crunching underfoot welcomed Jerome into the pharmacy. It was a little building on the edge of town, one that took them longer to find than anyone would have preferred. Like every other building of interest, it was looted out. The last pharmacy they tried had been picked completely clean; at least this one appeared to have _something_ left. Jerome was careful to not step on any of the remaining items that littered the floor. Just because other people were hoodlums didn't mean he had to be.

Behind the checkout counter, a single walker lumbered out upon the Dufour's arrival. Its t-shirt had a gaping hole in the side, exposing the jagged, oozing bite on his lifeless skin, presumably what killed him. Not long ago, judging by his clothes. In fact, he was cleaner than Jerome.

"Come here," Jerome directed Emma, stepping in front of her once she was close enough. This was the only stance that allowed him enough control to defend his family and keep them close simultaneously. Brandon and the others opted to scavenge the neighboring store, but he wouldn't have left her on the bus anyway. As Jerome retrieved the pistol from his waistband, Rachel placed a hand on his good arm.

"Let me do it."

"Are you sure?"

"You shouldn't have to do it every time." Eyes glued to the nearing biter, Rachel added, "Just give it here, he's getting closer."

Jerome handed her the gun, then stepped back. He forced Emma to stay behind him as Rachel lined up the sights. She'd seen more than enough blood and gore for a lifetime. Even if he couldn't preserve her innocence much longer, he wasn't ready to give up yet.

"Hurry," he urged, regretting it as soon as the word slipped out and she glared at him. He didn't mean to rush her, but the boy was practically there. The milky eyes locked onto Rachel made him nervous, especially as it stumbled towards her as fast as it's motor skills would allow.

Rachel pulled the trigger and flinched at the bang. Her bullet missed the mark, piercing the t in _prescription_ on the back wall. Unphased by the shot, it continued forward, groans growing more and more desperate with each step that brought him closer to a meal. She took a few steps back and tried again. This time, the bullet hit its mouth. A few teeth and most of his jaw fell to the floor with a _plop_ , but it kept coming. One final try and he fell to the floor, finally dead forever. Brain matter trickled out of the new gap in his skull onto the tile, turning off-white to maroon.

"Piece of cake." Rachel smiled, though the trembling of her hand as she handed the weapon back to Jerome alluded otherwise. "Quite a recoil on that."

Brandon barreled through the entrance, stopping just before he plowed over Rachel. "What the hell are you guys doing?"

"We had to put a biter down," Jerome answered. What were they supposed to do, slow dance with it?

"Maybe you didn't notice, but gunshots are loud. Walkers come to noise like moths to a flame." Upon realizing he was raising his voice, Brandon deflated. "I'm not trying to be an ass, it's just...didn't you notice we killed all the ones at the last place with a knife?"

Rachel huffed, looking at Brandon with an unimpressed expression. "Do you really expect us to get that close to them? If that works for you then fine but we have no intention of becoming food today."

"Just hurry, please. We don't know what'll happen now." Brandon was almost out the door when he turned back and added, "And tell my sister it was right on you."

"Got it." Rachel pursed her lips.

They continued through the shop, most of the shelves bare. While Jerome rummaged through a few random boxes of over the counter medications on the floor, Rachel came to his side.

"Looks like this is the best we're gonna find." She held up a nail care kit and a smushed tube of triple antibiotic ointment.

"Going to do your nails later?" Jerome quipped, smiling when she rolled her eyes.

"There are tweezers in here. And scissors, which might come in handy."

Near the front doors, Emma called, "Anybody got a quarter?"

Jerome made his way around the corpse on the floor to see Emma standing beside a gumball machine. Of all the things in the store, this was the most untouched. It was over half full of various candies. After realizing he had no money at all on him, Jerome leaned over the checkout counter. Whoever robbed the place not only left the cash register drawer open, but most of the change. Jerome scooped out four quarters and handed them to Emma.

"Thanks!" Emma smiled from ear to ear and skipped back to the machine. Not the best for her teeth, but at least she was happy.

"Take some for Adrian," Jerome added. He started towards the last shelf he hadn't checked, but Rachel waved him over.

When he reached her, she spoke quietly. "I wanted to talk to you about something before we're back on the bus."

"About what?"

"This morning we were refugees protected by the National Guard, now look at us. Two hours ago Carmen had a gun to your head, now we're carpooling. Things are moving fast. We're all tired and probably in shock. I just want to make sure you're thinking things through."

"There wasn't very many people in Alaska to begin with, but who knows how many are left now? I want to be on good terms with as many as I can. I think we've learned there is _not_ strength in solidarity. If Brandon hadn't stuck his neck out for us, we'd be dead."

"I know," Rachel replied. "You said that already. We've made our bed and now we have to lie in it, but I think we should try to stay one step ahead for a while."

"We can - " Jerome was interrupted by a loud crash from the front of the store. He whirled around to see the gumball machine on the ground, candy pouring out from a crack in the plastic dome. Emma stood over it, face contorted with fury.

Rachel stormed over to the mess, jaw slack out of astonishment. Rather than glass, candy crunched under her shoes. "What is the matter with you?!"

"Damn thing ate my quarter." Emma kicked the machine, though it barely moved. She must have put in some effort to send it to the floor. If it hadn't been so uncharacteristic, Jerome might have been proud.

"Watch your mouth," Jerome warned, joining Rachel. "If we didn't have to go I'd make you clean this all up."

"It's not fair!" Emma clenched and unclenched her fists, glaring at the avalanche of candy.

Just as Rachel bent down to face level with her daughter, Carmen hollered from somewhere outside.

" _Hey! Get out here!_ "

"We're not done talking about his," said Rachel.

Jerome led the way out, steering Emma in front of him. While the others were already sitting inside, Carmen stood beside the bus.

"Look." Expressionless, Carmen pointed somewhere up the road.

Jerome hurried around the trees obscuring his view. A hundred yards or less up the road, more biters than he'd ever seen trudged forward. Jerome's breath caught in his throat, and his chest ached with the pounding of his heart. There must have been four or five dozen of them. Jerome's senses tunneled until their distant moans were the only things he heard and their ambling forms were the only things he saw. People of all sizes, shapes, ages, and races. From all different walks of life, undoubtedly. More appeared out of seemingly every space around. Windows from the businesses across the street, down the street, from around the pharmacy. Mothers, sisters, and daughters, fathers, brothers, and sons. In the end they were all the same. They all wanted to sink their teeth into living flesh. To stop them, he'd have to kill them. When did that become the way of life?

" _Jerome_!"

He flinched as Rachel's voice broke through, an urgency in her voice indicating this wasn't the first time she tried to get his attention. He realized that at some point Emma had gotten on the bus. She stared at him worriedly from the front seat, mouthing something that looked like 'what are you doing?'

"We've got to go," Rachel shouted, eyes wide.

Jerome ran forward and followed Rachel onto the bus. No sooner than his feet hit the aisle, Brandon snapped the doors shut and went hard on the steering wheel, sending the bus into a turn so quickly Jerome involuntarily fell into a seat next to Carmen.

"Welcome back," she snickered. "How was the reality check?"


	3. Expendable

No sooner than Ben returned to the trailer, Dad emerged from the sleeping quarters. His eyes were wide, and for once Ben couldn't read his expression. Stress, irritation, or perhaps a mixture of the two. In any case, the muscles in his jaw rippled under the skin as he grit his teeth.

"Kate kept saying the wall clock was mocking her. Who the hell puts a wall clock in a trailer, anyway? I took it down and put it in the cabinet but she swore it was still talking to her. So it's Samantha's clock now."

"I was gone for all of twenty minutes," Ben thought aloud. She'd slipped in and out of these spells all afternoon. The times where she was coherent seemed to be getting shorter. Ben's experience with this was limited. In fact, if all his time with Kate off her medication was put together, it would sum up to less than a day. This was as new to him as it was to Dad, and the burden of acting like he had any clue what to do was beginning to weigh on him. "Are you gonna be able to handle this while I'm gone?"

"Do I have a choice?" Dad had no qualms about letting his displeasure known. Sometimes it was a good thing to have someone around who didn't hold back, but all it did in this instance was irritate Ben.

"Look, I'm going... " Ben started, much harsher than intended. Taking a moment to compose himself, he tried again. "I know this isn't easy for you. Believe me when I say I hate that I even have to put you in this position. But I can't trust anyone else. People were scared of the mentally ill before everything went to shit. If anybody out there sees a threat to their safety, even if it is another human being, someone they've known for weeks or months, they're going to turn on them. That's not a risk I can take."

Whether or not Dad understood wasn't clear. He didn't react at all, just slipped into the dinette booth and continued like nothing happened. "What did Clarence want?"

Ben hadn't needed his father's approval since he was a teenager, but the old man might as well have just punched him in the gut. "He's not buying this 'Kate's dehydrated' thing. And Keisha's been nagging him to talk to me about winter."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"For once, we agree." Ben moved to his bag, still on the counter where he left it. A quick check reminded him he needed to take more food. Though he wasn't about to say it out loud, he knew the chances of getting stranded for an extra day or two. Before Dad could say anything else, Ben headed into the sleeping quarters. When Kate saw saw him pushed herself up to a sitting position, adjusting the pillow at her neck.

"Hey...how are you feeling?" Ben sat at the edge of the narrow bed, patting her on the leg. Leaving without saying goodbye seemed cruel, yet he'd debated all afternoon whether he should or not.

"Don't you worry about me," Kate replied with a smile. "I'll make it."

"Well….I'm heading out for a while. So I just wanted to see you before I leave."

Her eyes narrowed. "Where are you going this close to dark?"

"To the city. There are some things I want to look for."

"Oh." Unconvinced, she crossed her arms. "What aren't you telling me?"

Even when she wasn't well, the woman could read him like a book. "Nothing, honey. I just don't want you worrying about me. I won't be gone long."

Kate opened her mouth to respond, but quickly snapped it shut. She looked back and forth at something only she could see before she grabbed Ben's wrist and yanked it close to her face.

Ben frowned. "What are you doing?"

She pulled and picked at the watch on his wrist, growling with frustration when it wouldn't unlatch. "Give it to me!"

A sinking feeling came to Ben's stomach. He briefly wanted to question her, but deep down he already knew the answer. Not wanting to upset her further, he unhooked the watch and handed it over.

She flipped it over to look at its face, then grimaced. Abruptly, she turned and slung it at the wall. It made an awful noise when it collided, metal on metal. Ben swore there was a dent in its place once it slid to the floor.

Against his better judgement, Ben asked, "Why did you do that?"

"It said bad things about us." She averted her eyes, and for a moment Ben wondered if she had self-awareness. "I just had to do it. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." While he'd expected an answer like that, it was still jarring to hear. He felt the pressure to help her more than ever. Before standing up, he planted a kiss on her forehead. "I should get going."

"Be safe."

"Of course." He gave a reassuring smile. "I love you." He waited for her to say it back, or do _something_. Instead, she rolled over and looked out the window.

Maybe it was for the best. This wasn't goodbye, it was just 'see you later'. Sliding the door shut behind hi, Ben walked back into the main part of the trailer and crouched to look through the cupboards. They tried to keep canned goods in every trailer, even two or three cans. Lately things ran lower and lower. Ben hated to take the last can of fruit, but he'd be worthless if something happened and he got too hungry. At least those in camp had Dean hunting when he could.

Dad spoke quietly. "I really wish you'd wait until morning at the very least. I'm starting to wonder which one of you is crazier."

"Hey," Ben snapped, whirling around. "Don't call her crazy. She's just sick."

"Right," Dad replied, a genuine look of remorse on his face. "I shouldn't have said that."

"She might be testing your patience but keep in mind she can't help it. This isn't her."

Dad nodded along. "Got it. I'll try my best to keep myself together. I mean it."

"Good." Truthfully, Ben wasn't reassured at all. Dad had a short fuse; that much he knew from personal experience.

Once the bag was almost bursting at the seams with perhaps too much food, ammunition, and other supplies, Ben zipped it shut. Just as he was about to take it out to the truck, the front door flew open.

Samantha stumbled inside, eyes bugging. She clutched the door's handle in one hand and a rifle in the other. "Ben, someone's coming!"

"Someone's coming?" He repeated, disbelief as well as panic causing his heart to pound. "What do you mean?"

"They stopped on the path b-but I saw them coming in. It's a short bus. I think someone's walking down.""

"Get all the kids inside and don't let anyone do anything stupid."

"Okay!" Samantha left just as quickly as she'd came.

Dad shot to his feet, fidgeting fretfully with his hands. "What now?"

"You stay here with Kate." Ben retrieved a loaded magazine from the bag. He hoped this situation, whatever it was, could be resolved peacefully. But if a whole bus of people was heading their way, he wanted to be prepared. The thought of getting into a shootout with strangers terrified him beyond belief, but he was getting good at doing what had to be done regardless of his own feelings.

"Son," Dad called, stopping Ben just before he went out the door. When they locked eyes, he gulped. "Be careful."

* * *

After several direction mix-ups, the final leg of their journey was spent with Jerome in the driver's seat. Some debates broke out over whether Jerome couldn't give directions or Brandon couldn't follow them, but it was better than the tense silence they'd been sitting in.

"We're almost there," Jerome announced as he turned off the asphalt onto the unmarked dirt road. Twenty four hours ago he would have never guessed this would be reality. He'd never been a religious man, but he was so grateful everything turned out okay. They all made it out of the Fort, they were saved from certain death by strangers, managed to find the necessary things to keep his arm from getting infected, and now they were almost to their safe haven. Someone was looking out for them, even if it wasn't the National Guard.

"Finally," Rachel breathed.

In the seat beside the doors, Brandon leaned forward and looked out the bloody panels. He whistled. "You weren't kidding when you said this place was hard to find."

"Maybe a little too hard." Carmen eyed the heavily wooded area on either side of the bus. "I'm liable to go in the woods to take a piss and never be seen again."

Jerome warned, "It's gonna get bumpy." Maneuvering around the potholes that littered the road was more of a task than he expected. The largest thing he'd ever drove around there was a pickup truck, and with trees on either side, there wasn't much wiggle room.

Childish laughter erupted louder with each bump. Ever since Emma shared her candy with him, Adrian had come out of his shell more and more. He went from sitting quietly in the back to skipping back and forth between is father and Carmen, making various comments about their surroundings. They must have been somewhere to be so well-dressed. They all wore sweaters, jeans, and hiking boots in various styles.

Through his giggles, Adrian said, "This is fun!"

"You'll love it here." Jerome found the boy's brown eyes in the rearview mirror. The entire bus shook as he drove over a particularly deep hole. "There's a creek and all kinds of machinery. Maybe I'll take you for a spin on the backhoe if your daddy doesn't mind."

"Yeah!"

As they cleared the roughest portion of the road, the trees and foliage began to thin. The first signs of camp became visible below, like the fence and ATV. Then, just as Jerome was about to make the final turn, he slammed on the breaks.

The camp wasn't empty. A dozen people stood in front of what used to be his and Ben's trailers, half of them holding guns. Their body language told him all the needed to know. These were not friendly faces.

"Dude, what the hell?" Brandon demanded. "You said this place would be untouched for sure."

"I thought it - you saw what it's like, h-how could anyone find it?" Jerome stammered. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air. Who would have thought to come here other than one of his coworkers? What if it _was_ one of his coworkers down there? Things had changed, that much was certain.

Carmen's nose practically rested against the window. "We can take them. Half of them are old and the other half look scared to death."

"Take them?" Rachel repeated, unimpressed.

"What other choice do we have?"

Jerome ran a trembling hand through his hair, then unbuckled his seatbelt. There was only one choice in his mind. They couldn't turn around and go back to the city and they had nowhere else to go. "I'm gonna walk down there."

"Papa, no!" Emma pleaded. "They have guns."

"I have to." He stood and caressed her cheek. The look of determination in her eyes made him both proud and worried. "It'll be okay."

Brandon offered, "I'll come too."

"No. They might think we're trying something."

"They might think that with just you too," Rachel pointed out. "What are the chances these people are going to welcome us with open arms? Come on, honey. This place isn't worth your life. "

Jerome couldn't decide if he agreed or not. Where else could they go that was so perfectly secluded? "I'm holding onto the hope that there are still a handful of people willing to help their fellow man."

"That's a naive hope," Rachel replied bluntly.

"I won't push it. If they tell me to go away, I will."

After a moment, Brandon sighed. He pressed a button and the doors swung open. "If things go bad, you _run_ back here. I'll keep the doors open. You can jump in and I'll put the pedal to the metal."

"This is nuts," Carmen grumbled.

"We can't turn around now." Jerome looked to his wife and daughter and gave a small smile. "I'll be right back. Don't worry."

Immediately upon stepping off the bus, Jerome raised his hands high above his head. If they wanted to shoot him they'd find a reason, but he wasn't going to give them one. A wave of nostalgia crashed over him and almost overtook the fear. Dirt and gravel beneath his boots, golden sunlight on the spruces, the smell of earth and nature. This was practically a second home to him. As he rounded the bend and the people became clearer, a chill went up his spine. What Carmen said was true, though Jerome still had no desire to 'take them'. Several people stood in the clearing. An older woman with short white hair stood with a no-nonsense expression, hands in the pockets of her denim jacket. Just to her left stood a man of similar age. He looked far less aggressive, with more of a 'deer in the headlights' look. Besides, how aggressive could anyone wear a camouflage vest and loafers be?

At the very front of the group stood a mountain of a man. His dark green sweater was tucked into cargo pants, exposing the gun on his hip. Though he was far past the age for active duty, Jerome guessed he was military just from the way he carried himself. Much like the soldiers at the Fort when they were about to shoot a walker. Except this man hadn't drawn his weapon, he kept a hand on the holster instead.

As soon as Jerome was within earshot, the man called, "Don't come any closer."

Jerome halted. The feeling in his arms was beginning to go, but he wasn't about to make any sudden moves. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I just used to - "

The door to Ben's trailer popped open and out came Ben himself. They locked eyes, and several emotions rushed through Jerome. At first he was excited; seeing anyone he knew, let alone his best friend, was unexpected. Like most people, he wrote that possibility off long ago. But things were different, people were different. It was all about survival. A voice in the back of Jerome's mind began to wonder if Ben was going to send him away. If that's the choice he made, it would disappoint Jerome for many reasons, but he wouldn't hold it against him.

"Get your guns off him," Ben ordered, tucking his own weapon back into his waistband. His previously emotionless face expanded into a smile, then he began to laugh. He moved off the steps and jogged to close the gap between them. He momentarily offered a handshake, but enveloped Jerome in a bear hug before he had the chance to accept it.

Surprised, Jerome staggered a few steps. Then he allowed his aching arms to return the friendly gesture. Overwhelming relief rushed over him. Ben wasn't going to turn him away or shoot him. They made it. The odds of another disaster preventing them from settling in was minimal, and for that he could finally relax. All eyes were on him, expressions ranging from confusion and shock to anger.

"I never thought I'd see a familiar face again, at least not alive." Ben moved back to look Jerome up and down. "You look like you've been put through the wringer."

The big guy in the green sweater walked closer. Perhaps intentionally, he was indifferent with both his demeanor and tone. He looked to Ben. "I take it you don't consider him a threat?"

From a few feet back, the older lady added, "Yeah, what the hell is going on?"

"He worked with me," Ben clarified. This information relaxed some of the strangers, but not all of them. "More importantly, we're friends."

Jerome awkwardly raised his hand to wave at the people. "Nice to meet you all. I'm Jerome Dufour."

A woman in a red jacket sidled beside the big guy, wrapping her arm around his waist. Her hair must have been styled with a flat-iron before, but the lack of such luxuries caused it to go back to its natural wiry state. "Not to be rude, but…what's that on your arm?"

White bandage stuck out like a beacon on Jerome's arm, glaringly obvious among the dried blood and gray of his sweater. "I was - "

"Is he bit?" A young man asked, an angry edge to his voice. He started forward only to be stopped by a woman beside him. When he roughly yanked his arm away, her feet scrambled against the tree needles as he almost knocked her over. They were nearly the same height but her scrawny frame was no match for his bulky build. "Get off me, Lauren!"

"I'm not bit," Jerome interjected. Before anyone else could make assumptions, he continued, "I got cut." He hated to waste supplies just to prove himself truthful, but it seemed to be necessary. As he unwound the gauze it pulled at his sensitive skin, causing him to wince. No more than an hour ago, Rachel fixed it up. Once the bandage was off, he held his arm out for everyone to see. The narrow gash glittered with antibiotic ointment rather than glass, and some of the inflammation had already started to fade.

"What happened?" Ben asked.

"Well…" Jerome made sure everyone was satisfied with his proof before re-wrapping the wound. The gauze wasn't nearly as tight this time, but it would hold. He anxiously rubbed the back of his neck. If he explained where he got the cut he'd have to explain the explosion, and the whole deal with the Fort. "I'd rather not get into it right now."

To his relief, Ben accepted the answer without hesitation. "That's alright. Did you come alone?"

Jerome shook his head. "Rachel and Emma are in the bus. Some other folks too."

"What are you waiting for?" Ben questioned, bewildered. "Bring them down."

"I was waiting to make sure we'd be welcome. I expected this place to be as we left it." More hesitantly, Jerome added, "Are you sure you want us to stay? There are six of us, and if - "

"Bring them down." Ben heartily slapped Jerome on the back.

A new sense of hope alive in him, Jerome trotted just far enough up the path to see the bus. He gave a double thumbs up, then waved them down with a "come on" motion of his hand. Moments later, the bus started its descent down the path.

As most of the group went their separate ways, the big guy seemed to be waiting. When Jerome was in earshot, he said, "By the way, my name's Clarence Evans."

Jerome almost regretted it when he accepted the handshake. Clarence had one hell of a grip. "Nice to meet you. I really appreciate your kindness."

Clarence nodded and motioned to the woman at his side. "This is my wife Keisha."

Red-sweater-woman, Keisha apparently, smiled politely. "Some of the others might not be so nice. Don't pay any mind to them."

"Good to know," Jerome replied. "Thanks."

Ben emerged from his trailer again, this time trailed by none other than Marvin. A lifelong business man, Marvin managed funds when the mine was up and running. He also helped out whenever their crew was a man short - until he threw his back out picking up a rock, anyway.

"I'll be damned," Marvin exclaimed. Just as surprised as his son had been, he strode across the clearing and stopped in front of Jerome with his hands on his hips. "It's good to see you again."

"I'm glad you guys got out the city okay." For the third time in as many minutes, Jerome exchanged handshakes. Before he realized it might be a bad idea to ask, he continued, "Where are Marcia and Kate?"

After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Ben cleared this throat. "My mom didn't make it. Kate's...well, she's just a little dehydrated but she'll be okay."

Behind Jerome, the bus rumbled to a stop. Its engine shut off, then the doors popped open. Brandon, Carmen, and Adrian filed off first, and went to introduce themselves. Rachel and Emma followed, both of their previously tense faces relaxing at the sight of Ben and Marvin."

"Ben," Rachel greeted, passing her husband to give the other man a hug. "It's so good to see you."

"You too," Ben said. He waved to Emma. "When things first started going bad, I tried to call you guys. Right up until the lines went down."

Jerome said, "We left for Fort McAdams first thing, but I did have my cell phone. I tried to call you too, and Rachel's sister. We didn't get through to anyway."

"Fort McAdams?" The man in the camouflage vest rushed over to them, a pinkness tinting his cheeks. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, it's just...I'm Dean by the way. It's just that's where we were trying to go and never made it."

"Trust me, it was for the best." Rachel said.

"Why's that?"

So much for not getting into the whole spiel so soon. "It's over. Something happened this morning and let's just say they're done."

Several of the nearby people expressed their displeasure with this news. The old lady scowled, Marvin's jaw fell open, and Clarence's brows nearly shot into his hairline. A barrage of questions came at him until Ben interrupted them.

"Let them get settled. If they want to tells us more after that, they will."

* * *

Settling in took much longer than expected. Turns out every available trailer, barrack, and tent in the whole camp was occupied. Jerome's old trailer was taken by Peggy and Dean Peterson, the elderly couple who were like fire and ice, respectively. Peggy informed him with no uncertain terms that if he wanted it back he would have to take it. If that wasn't enough of a deterrent, Jerome had no plans of demanding they give it back. It was theirs fair and square. That left the Dufours with two options: sleep on the bus with the Woods or in the dining trailer. Neither one sounded comfortable, but Jerome had no complaints. He'd sleep outside in the dirt as long as it was safe.

Introductions alone befuddled his tired, shell-shocked mind. Aaliyah, the Evan's little girl, was just over a year younger than Emma. The two were practically connected at the hip for the rest of the afternoon, chatting and playing with Aaliyah's dolls. In her bright pink jacket and pastel pants, Aaliyah was easy enough to pick out of a crowd. Jake, the one 'Lauren' held back from attacking him, could have been plucked from any college in the country. His blonde hair probably had some trendy style, but now it lay flat and slightly greasy against his head. Lauren mostly kept to herself after a quick hello. In hiking boots, blue jeans, and a flannel shirt, she looked like she dressed for the occasion of the apocalypse. Ben said she and Jake handled runs to the city, and Jerome could see why. The little brunette, Samantha, was about as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Jerome wasn't sure if she was like that all the time or just because outsiders were around.

As if it wasn't bizarre enough to be in camp with a dozen strangers, Jerome's old clothes were even still there. Ben put all of the things he left in his trailer in the dining trailer, since he said it felt wrong to throw it out. Ben's trailer was the only one in camp with a shower. To think, Jerome thought sharing one bathroom with three people was bad home. He'd hardly washed his hair before Marvin was pounding on the door, telling him he was taking too long. After that, Jerome exchanged his dirty clothes for 'work jeans' and Carhartt jacket. Both were covered in dirt and oil, but he'd take that over blood and guts any day.

Afternoon gave way to evening, and soon the only light came from the fire pit. It seemed to be the one thing that would bring the whole camp together. All of them gathered around, be it in folding chairs or simply on the ground. Carmen was the only one to not join in. Instead, she claimed her place on the bus and went to bed. Jerome felt the stress and exertion of the day weighing on him, but he didn't want to turn in. It was so peaceful to be warmed by the flickering flames, Rachel at his side. Ben and Marvin sat to his right. Quiet chit-chat was the the only sound except for the crackling of the fire. No soldiers yelling, or bunk mates crying themselves to sleep.

"I hate to pressure you," Dean reluctantly began after a while. "But are you ready to talk about what happened at Fort McAdams yet?"

Jerome really wasn't, but he could see how this news was troubling for many of the others. He took a deep breath and nodded. "Things had been going down hill but I don't think anybody expected this to happen. For a few weeks now meals got smaller until they cut out lunch altogether, we used to be able to come and go from our barracks but then they wouldn't let us go out after dark, things like that. Then this morning, it just...I don't know what happened. Truly. All of a sudden soldiers were yelling and giving orders. They told us, and I quote, 'Fort McAdams services are coming to an end.' Someone started shooting and that was that. We barely made it out alive. That's all I know."

"This happened this morning?" Ben questioned.

"Right," Jerome confirmed. It felt like a lifetime ago, and he'd like to treat it as such as soon as possible. "And my arm? We were in the city and the mall blew up. Still don't know what the hell that was. Never heard anything so loud in my life."

Across the fire pit, Clarence sighed. He cut a look at Samantha. "Told you it wasn't napalm."

"We have no way to know for sure but I think it was a gas explosion," Brandon said.

"I think it's safe to say we're all pretty lucky," said Rachel. "Everything we've went through today...it's like the world ended all over again. We were sheltered in more ways than one by the Fort. Neither of us expected things to be as bad as they are."

Marvin sat up a little straighter. Almost boastfully, he announced, "I said from the beginning those 'refugee centers' were terrible ideas. I talked Ben into coming here right away, and I'm glad I did."

"It was a good choice," Jerome agreed. "I'm just glad everything worked out as well as it did for us. Rachel's right, we're very lucky. I never even...took care of a biter before today."

Half the circle gasped at that statement, making Jerome feel like a circus freak. Jake asked, "How is that possible?"

Rachel answered, "We drove straight to the Fort, they let us in, and that was that. We never even came face-to-face with one; the soldiers always took care of them before they got close enough for us to worry about them."

"Biter," Ben repeated, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. "Never heard that one before. We all call them walkers."

"It's what the National Guard liked to call 'em," Jerome explained.

"Papa!"

Jerome nearly jumped out of his skin at Emma's yell. She and Aaliyah came hurtling from between two of the trailers, their faces lit up with excitement.

"We saw a fox," Aaliyah told her parents. "Back in the woods. We could just barely see him, but he was there!"

From Brandon's lap, Adrian whined. "I want to see a fox."

"Maybe we'll see him again," Emma told him. "I've never seen a fox before."

Jerome pulled her over to him. Partially because there was something he wanted to tell her, but also because she'd somehow slipped out of his sight without him noticing. Even if they were in the middle of nowhere, he wasn't ready for that. "That's a good omen, you know."

Ben snorted. "We worked here there years and you never told her the story?"

"I'm getting to it," Jerome replied. He realized both of the other kids were waiting expectantly and leaned forward like he was telling tales at a slumber party. "Hundreds, maybe even thousands of years ago, an Athabascan tribe lived in this area when the worst blizzard of the century hit them without warning. It was minus eighty degrees, and in just two hours the snow was nearly up to their hips. See, the Athabascans rely on hunting and fishing, but the river they settled by was completely frozen. All the animals in the area must have been hibernating or froze to death, because they moved on and started looking for somewhere else to live."

Aaliyah guessed, "And they found a fox and ate him?"

"Not quite." Jerome chuckled. "Weeks turned into months, and soon almost all of the Athabascans were gone. From hunger, or cold or sickness. Their most experienced hunters went out for hours and found no trails of anything. They were just about to give up and let nature take its course when all of a sudden, and red fox wandered into their makeshift camp. He came right up to them and stood, almost waiting. One of the hunters was about to shoot him with an arrow when their chief told him to wait. Once he had their attention, the fox walked off just a little before he looked back at them and yipped. They realized he wanted to show them something and they followed him through the snow until the fox led them here. The creek wasn't frozen. It was rushing as it always has, and fish leapt out the water as far as the eye could see. The Athabascans went fishing and settled here for a long while. The red fox saved them, and they worshipped foxes from then on."

"Wow," Emma breathed. "Maybe that fox wanted to show us something."

Rachel said, "No, he just ran off. If he wanted to show you something he would have yipped."

"I guess that makes sense."

Jerome smiled. "I think it's time you went to bed, my cherie. You have to be tired; I know I am."

"Yeah." Rachel rose from her chair and stretched. "I think it's time we turn in."

"Us too," Keisha agreed, shushing Aaliyah when she started to argue. "You be quiet. I already let you stay up later than usual."

The group began to go their separate ways. Blah blah. Jerome stayed behind to help Dean put out the fire, and just when he turned to follow his family to their new sleeping quarters, Ben grabbed his arm.

"I need to talk to you for a minute."

"Is something wrong?"

Ben didn't answer right away. "Just come with me."

Jerome followed him almost all the way to the creek. It was so dark out there that Ben could barely see his hand two feet in front of his face, and he suddenly felt vulnerable. He hoped Ben had a weapon on him, just in case. They stopped once the sound of rushing water became audible.

"I feel like I'm about to get whacked," Jerome joked, a lame attempt to settle his own anxiety.

Ben didn't laugh. He was quiet for several moments. Abruptly, he said, "Kate's not dehydrated. I lied."

"Okay," Jerome replied, not sure where this was going or what kind of information he was about to be told.

"She's schizophrenic. She has been since I've known her and with medication you can't even tell. But she ran out of medication today. I was just about to head into the city to look for some when you showed up."

All of this information was as surprising as it was troubling. "Alone?"

Now Ben laughed. "You're the third person that's said that today."

"Ben," Jerome began slowly. He could just barely make out Ben's form in the dark, and all he had to go on was his tone. Ben sounded far too sure of himself. "Hear me when I say you don't want to be alone anywhere in Fairbanks."

"I was actually thinking about going alone _and_ at night," Ben replied. "I know how crazy it must sound but put yourself in my shoes. Your wife's sick, she's suffering, and you can fix it if you can just get to the city and find some pills. What would you do?"

"I'd probably do the same thing. I get it."

"I've got a favor to ask you. One that'll top every other favor I've even asked of you, even that time I made you manually unclog the toilet in my trailer."

"You want me to go with you?" Maybe it was because he knew Ben so well, but his intentions were obvious to Jerome. "I will. Of course I will. Just not at night. That's not just crazy, it's a death sentence."

"You will?" Ben repeated, both surprised and dubious. "Don't you want to think about it or talk to Rachel?"

"Rachel is going to be pissed about this no matter what I say, that much I know. But she'll come around. Your family always treated me like one of your own. I can't turn my back on you now."

Ben slapped him on the neck; Jerome assumed he meant to go for his shoulder. "I'll never be able to repay you. It means a lot to me that you even want to go. I know after what you've been through you can't be looking forward to this. But to tell you the truth, I don't even want to go alone. Before you got here no one but my Dad knew the truth, and someone has to stay here to keep an eye on her. I didn't have any choice."

"Why haven't you told anyone else?"

"Things have happened fast. Even though I've spent day in and day out with these folks, I've only known some of them for a few weeks. I don't know how much I can trust them."

Jerome understood that. When they first reached the Fort, he'd been very protective of their possessions and their personal business. "Can I at least tell Rachel? She and Kate were good friends."

"Sure. Besides, she was a nurse. Maybe she knows something we don't."

"I'll talk to her when we get back if she's not asleep. Come get me in the morning and we'll get going."

"Thanks again," Ben said. "Well, if I don't let you get some sleep I think we can just use the bags under to carry our stuff."

Jerome couldn't help but laugh. "I'm too tired to think of a funny comeback, so I'll let you have that one."

They traveled back to camp chatting about old times and new times, and gossiping about the others here and there. However, in the back of Jerome's mind all he could think of was going into Fairbanks _again_. If something went wrong this time, the chances of someone in a school bus dashing in to save them seemed pretty slim. A small part of Jerome was surprised Ben would even ask it of him, especially after he told everyone what he'd just been through. In the end, he meant what he said - the Wallaces were like family, and be damned if he wasn't going to do everything he could to help them. _I just hope this isn't a mistake._

* * *

 


	4. Blood, Sweat, and Tears

Morning came too soon. Sleeping elbow-to-elbow on the dining trailer floor wasn't glamorous, yet Jerome was certain he liked it better than the Fort. This wasn't the first time he questioned what would have happened had they come straight to Red Fox rather than go to the refugee center, would be the last. What was done was done, and he'd just try extra hard to make the right decision going forward.

When he was awoken by Ben tapping on the window fifteen minutes earlier, the last thing he felt was rested. His muscles ached from an entire day of being on the run, and his head was already starting to pound with the beginnings of a headache. The latter was almost certainly from his argument with Rachel just before bed. She was still awake when he returned to camp, and he figured it would be best to fill her in as soon as possible. It probably didn't matter when he told her, because his predictions were right on the money: she was pissed. "You haven't even been here a day and you're leaving?" she'd demanded. "We almost died yesterday. You just sat there and said how lucky we are. Why do you want to risk it?" Even after he told her the truth about Kate, she didn't accept it. "That's not your responsibility. Emma is. But hey, you've got to do what you've got to do. You also can tell her yourself that you're leaving." And _that_ almost did him in. Looking his little girl in the eye and telling her he had to go away was one of the hardest things he ever did. She broke down in tears almost immediately, then angrily told him to have a nice trip. After that they laid down and had the most tense night of restlessness ever. Unfortunately, that was the last interaction with them Jerome would have before heading out. So much for not going to bed angry.

Crack-of-dawn sunlight through the northern window outlined Rachel and Emma a few feet away, sound asleep in a heap of blankets. After lacing up his boots as silently as possible, Jerome tiptoed around them to retrieve his coat and backpack from their collective pile of belongings. The bag was the same one he'd found the day before, rather than leaving it packed to the gills, he only took what would be necessary. Ben and Clarence had practically lost their minds when he told them about all the guns he and Rachel got at the mall. Keeping them around Emma didn't seem like a good idea, so he and Rachel turned all of them in except for one. Jerome opted to keep the gun he got off the security guard. It wasn't the most powerful thing but it got the job done and he had some experience using it. With that, two boxes of ammo, and his knife, he felt more confident going back to Fairbanks.

Jerome exited the trailer, shutting the door behind him slowly. Everything outside was covered in a thin layer of frost, from the tents to the puffs of grass among the dirt. Bundled up like they were in the arctic, Samantha waved at him from atop the Petersons' trailer. Otherwise, the heart of camp was vacant. A distant elk's call echoed for miles around. On the other side of the bus, a two-door pickup idled on the road out of camp. The taillights contrasted harshly against the otherwise dim clearing. Ben sat in the driver's seat, preoccupied by whatever was in his hand. The rust-bucket creaked both when Jerome opened the door and when he climbed inside. The seats were not unlike carpet in texture, and a myriad of stains blended in with the brown stripes.

"Where did you find this thing? The junkyard?" Jerome allowed his bag to join Ben's on the floor. Stale cigarette smoke and a general mustiness made him want to brave the cold and crack the window, but amazingly enough, the heat was on.

"It was Peggy and Dean's." As soon as Jerome bucked his seat belt, Ben started up the path. "I know it's not very pretty but it's like a tank."

"If you say so." Jerome reached into his pocket and found 'breakfast'. Three pieces of beef jerky and half a bag of trail mix wasn't much to quell his empty stomach, but at least it was something. Keisha gave them leftovers from dinner but his body had long since devoured that.

"There's some real food in my bag if you want."

"Thanks, but I'm alright." Jerome reached over and picked up one of two pill bottles on the seat. Its label read _Thorazine_ \- _Kate Wallace - Take as prescribed._ The other bottle said the same.

"I know," Ben commented, voice low. "We're probably not gonna find any."

"Don't think like that, Benny." Jerome replaced the bottles and got started on his breakfast, going for the jerky first. "We won't leave until we find some."

Though Ben smiled, he shook his head. He echoed Jerome's earlier words. "If you say so."

Most of their ascent up the road was quiet. Jerome wasn't sure if it was because Ben didn't have anything else to say, or just didn't want to talk while trying to drive around the potholes. Finally, as he turned onto the main road, Ben asked, "How did Rachel take it?"

"Not well." Jerome sighed. "I hate to leave with her angry. But I'm not gonna feel guilty forever. She should understand."

"Let me give you some advice - never tell your wife she 'should' do anything. That's a sure way to get her to do the opposite."

"Rachel isn't like that."

"All women are like that."

"Come on," Jerome groaned. "You can't paint everyone with the same brush. What works for you and Kate probably won't work for me and Rachel."

Ben chuckled, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "So, what? You're just going to wait for Rachel to decide whether or not she's okay with this?"

"It's a little late now," Jerome exclaimed, motioning to the truck around him. " If the roles were reversed I'd be pretty pissed myself."

Ben moved his hand and made a whip sound effect, then laughed.

Sometimes Ben could be an ass. His rather old-fashioned outlook irritated Jerome, who didn't even consider himself progressive. Bored by the circles their conversation was going in, Jerome opened the glove box. Half a dozen cassette tapes lay inside, nestled among a ratty map and various brochures. None of the names rang a bell.

"What are you doing?" Ben inquired, glancing from the road to the cassettes and back.

"It's a long drive." Jerome plucked out a random cassette and, after a few unsuccessful attempts, inserted it into the player. Ben assisted with the buttons and the rest of their trip was driven to a soundtrack of classic country.

By the time Ben and Jerome found a pharmacy, they'd listened to both sides of the cassette and played a rousing game where one of them named an actor and the other guessed what they were from. The sun was well into the sky, and when Ben exited the truck he found the temperature mildly warmer than when they left camp. Surprisingly enough none of the bodies in sight were reanimated. The stench of death and decay didn't do much for Ben's already depleted morale, though.

"Which way do you want to go?" Jerome pulled on his backpack as he came around the truck to join Ben at the rear. There wasn't a single intact door between the pharmacy or the grocery store it was connected to, and surely they'd reach their goal by entering either one.

"Neither." Ben motioned for Jerome to follow. He lead the way around the side of the building to the drive-thru window. "Saw it on the way in."

Surprised, Jerome blinked. "Oh, nice. I hate to break it but this is better than going all the way through the store."

"If things magically go back to normal tomorrow, a broken window is going to be the least of the anyone's problems." He lifted up a loose chunk of concrete from the parking lot and heaved it at the window, instantly shattering it into a billion pieces.

"I meant because of the noise." Jerome huffed. He pointed at a few walkers down the street, stumbling from an alley.

"Screw 'em. By the time they get anywhere near here we'll be halfway back to Red Fox." Ben used a nearby stick to clear any remaining shards of glass from the frame. Then he climbed inside with minimal effort, boots crunching against the glass when his feet hit the floor. Jerome quickly followed, and retrieved a flashlight from his bag. _The one thing I forgot._

"Thorazine, Thorazine..." Jerome sang, his accent mangling the words into something barely recognizable as English. He went to one side of the various shelves along the walls while Ben went to the other, with only sunlight to illuminate the small room. At the front of the room sat a desk, presumably where pickups happened from inside the store. Just in front of that, a floor to ceiling security gate was pulled shut; everything beyond that was too dark. Someone must have shut the gate recently, because the pharmacy was certainly not untouched.

"Take everything." Ben removed his own bag and started tossing in anything that looked remotely like it could be useful. Now that they had a nurse in camp, Rachel would probably know what these fancy words meant and what they could be used for.

Jerome apprehensively picked up a nearby medication with his free hand. He shone the light on it and asked, "What if someone else's wife needs sulfur-meth-a-zill?"

"Every husband for himself." None of the sparse boxes in reach were what he came for. He sighed. "Anything over there?"

"No. But maybe we don't have to find that exact one. There are other schizophrenia medications, right?"

"Yeah, but I don't know what any of them would be."

They continued until both sides of the room were almost picked clean. At the end of his respective shelf, Ben angrily tossed a prescription laxative into the black void beyond the security gate. What was he thinking, coming into a looted out, picked over, disaster of a city to look for a needle in a haystack?

"Relax." Jerome joined him, returning the flashlight to its place in his bag. "This is only the first place we've tried."

Of course Ben never thought they would actually drive to Fairbanks, find a pharmacy in perfect condition, get the Thorazine, and leave. No, that would be too easy in a world gone to shit. But reality was in his face, and it was ugly. "Even if we do find some Thorazine, what happens when that runs out? Nobody is coming to refill Kate's prescription. Once we take what Fairbanks has to offer, that's it. Then what? Then fucking _what_?"

Silenced by Ben's rant, Jerome pursed his lips. A sudden growl from the otherside of the window caused both of them to snap their attention to it. Almost simultaneously, they drew their guns. Ben lead the way, stepping carefully around the packages and garbage in the floor. The noises became clearer as he neared the window; the distinct noise of walkers. Ben reached the opening and leaned out just enough to see what he was dealing with. Two dozen or more walkers ambled towards the window as fast as their legs would allow. Their ravenous moans grew more intense at the sight of Ben. He stumbled back from the window, his heart beating a mile a minute despite the rest of his body frozen in place. Did he cause this?

Three walkers reached the window at the same time. One of them seemed particularly motivated. Her stringy hair bounced wildly as she pushed through the other two, a guttural snarl ripping its way out from her gnashing teeth.

Jerome looked almost as pale as the undead. His arms hung limply at his side. He stood unflinching as Ben shot two of their attackers only for three to immediately take their place.

"Hey," Ben hollered over the groans and the ringing in his ears. When they locked eyes he continued, "Get that security gate open."

He dashed across the room and began pulling at the bars. Every walker Ben took out was immediately replaced by another until it was too much. He dropped the gun and ran to the shelf in the middle of the room. In his efforts to push it over to the window, he almost slipped in the blood and gunk four feet in every direction. Once it was in place he braced himself against it with his back, putting all his weight into keeping it in place. This was the closest he'd ever been to 'living' walkers, and everything about it caused a fear in him like he'd never felt before. Sinewy, rotting arms reached through the shelves inches from his vulnerable back. Hot, reeking breath accompanied excited moans as a select few almost fit their heads through.

"Jerome, come on," Ben demanded, not caring that his voice was many octaves higher than usual. Edges of shelves pressed harshly into him, and many times he felt like they would plow through at any moment.

Jerome grumbled something in French. His hands visibly trembled when he turned back to Ben. "I think it was electric and locked inside the wall. It's not going to open."

* * *

One of the most amazing things about the apocalypse was how it put people in situations they never, ever would have imagined themselves in. Routine and order, two of the things Rachel thrived on the most, were trademarks of the past. In two months she'd experienced more, ran more, and fought for her life more than she ever thought possible, even after the gravity of the situation had sank in. The first few weeks at Fort McAdams wasn't so bad. Daily meals at seven, noon, and five, on the dot. Freedom to walk around and visit other barracks. Periodic updates with messages from the Governor. After that, it was all downhill. Though a small part of her still wished they would have tried her sister's, Rachel was sure everything would be fine once they reached Red Fox Mine. In her eyes that couldn't have been farther from the truth. For one thing, she never thought they would be sharing the place with fifteen other people, almost all of them total strangers. Sure, they did the same thing at the Fort, but not quite so intimately. She had only been awake for three hours before she saw Jake Turner in his underwear, heard Peggy say she had to go to the bathroom and she'd be gone a while, and almost saw Marvin in his birthday suit when she went to shower. As if that wasn't bad enough, Jerome was in that death trap of a city trying to find medication for a schizophrenic woman who happened to be one of her closest friends. He left without saying goodbye, and her last words to him were, "I'm too angry to talk right now. Just leave me alone." That was one of those things she would feel guilty about until her dying day, similar to the time she accidentally drove the car over his foot.

Rachel sat at the dinette booth in the Wallace trailer shuffling a deck of cards. She realized this was the most normal thing she'd done since all of this began. Kate sat across the table, waiting patiently. What started out as a brief visit turned into babysitting. Thirty minutes and counting if the wall clock in the kitchen area was correct. Dean had come to the door and asked Marvin if he wanted to go hunting, and next thing Rachel knew she was in the middle of a gin tournament.

"Well, I've won two and you've won two. I guess this is the championship game." Rachel dealt their hands and lifted hers, eyes peering over the top to watch Kate. Although she'd been on high alert waiting for her to show some symptoms, she'd yet to see anything but sassy, talkative Kate. All through breakfast she participated in conversation and even helped clean up. Quite a turn around from the standoffish hermit she'd been the night before.

Kate chewed her lip, studying the cards in her hands intently. She hesitantly laid one down. "So, how much do you know?"

"What?"

"Let's cut the shit." Kate slammed down her cards. "All of a sudden Marvin is up my ass unless someone else is around to watch me. You're staring at me every time you think I'm not paying attention. Either you know something you shouldn't or I'm even crazier than I thought."

Rachel's breath caught in her throat. None of the advice Marvin gave her applied to this situation. Was Kate being herself or was this part of her illness? At a loss for words, her mouth hung agape until she found something to say. "... I don't think of you any differently."

"Okay," Kate replied sarcastically. "Let me guess, Jerome knows too? And Ben didn't just betray me, he lied?"

"Lied about what?" Rachel picked her words carefully. Whether Kate was in her right mind or not, the fury obviously bubbling just under the surface made her nervous.

"He told me yesterday he was just going to the city to 'pick some things up'. I think it has something to do with me."

Rachel quickly shook her head. "No, no, no - "

"Did he honestly think I didn't know my medication was running out?" Kate laughed. "I've taken it everyday since I was seventeen. I know what it means when I don't have it."

"If you knew, why didn't you say anything to Ben?" Rachel dared.

"What's he going to do about it?" Kate questioned. "Go to the city every other month and try to find more pills? What happens when he's found them all?"

Nothing about this added up. Kate may have been a stubborn, private person but she wasn't vindictive. "Why did you let him leave in the first place?"

"When he told me he was leaving yesterday, I thought something was off but I didn't think anything of it. He never told me the nitty-gritty details about being the boss when things were normal. I figured it was just like he said. Then I started thinking. Jerome just got here and is going with him to the city, and then you show up and it's the first time Marvin has let me out of his sight since yesterday. Besides, Ben hasn't been to Fairbanks in over a month. What could be so important he wouldn't let Jake and Lauren handle it?"

Sensing the question was rhetorical, Rachel stayed quiet. She didn't have much to say anyway. At least not to Kate. Marvin, on the other hand, would be getting an earful.

"His crazy wife's medicine," Kate answered herself. " When I do things like talk about rainbows or smash his watch, a small part of me knows it's wrong. Yet in the moment I believe it. The voices in my head are as clear as yours, and the thoughts are as rational as anything else. I thought I could handle living without medication. I mean, I've been through therapy. I know how to talk myself through it."

"I don't think we should talk about this."

"I was wrong." Kate continued like Rachel hadn't said anything. "And now I know the truth. My friends and family are going to die because of me. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day they will."

"That's not true." De-escalating situations had never been part of Rachel's skillset. What she really wanted to do was get up, walk out, and let Marvin deal with it. All that stopped her was the sympathy she felt for Kate. She knew that woman well enough to see that under the anger, she was hurting. "Ben wouldn't do anything he doesn't want to do. He wants to help you."

"I don't _want_ to be helped." Barely above a whisper, she added, "There's no place in this world for the mentally ill. There barely was before."

Somewhere nearby, someone fired a single gunshot. Without another thought, Rachel shot to her feet and darted out the door. There was no way anybody was hunting that close to camp, and Ben said walkers never made it that far. Rachel hurried down the short steps and saw everyone left in camp gathered around Jake and Lauren's trailer.

"Emma?" Rachel called, scanning the group for her daughter. After breakfast, Aaliyah invited Emma to play again. Rachel was reluctant to let her do anything that wasn't within fifteen feet of the dining trailer, but Keisha offered to watch them. Relying on other moms now and again was something very familiar to Rachel, so she agreed. Emma was nowhere to be seen, and that immediately made Rachel's blood boil.

Clarence came out the trailer, herding Aaliyah, Adrian, and Emma ahead of him. "They just shot a hole in the roof with one of the forty-fives," he said, gruffly holding onto Aaliyah even after the other two moved off the steps.

"Emma," Rachel repeated, more shocked than panicked this time. A hundred questions were immediately on the tip of her tongue, and she had to grit her teeth in order stop herself from losing it in front of half a dozen strangers. Emma trudged over, a strange look in her eyes. This wasn't like when she got caught awake after bedtime or sneaking candy before dinner. Of course it was far more serious, yet Emma seemed unapologetic. She stood with her arms crossed, almost daring her mother to say something.

Keisha pushed past the other survivors and took Aaliyah by the arm. Her nostrils flared with every breath. Rachel barely knew her, but she could tell that woman was furious. Looking remorsefully from Rachel to Brandon, she said, "I left for five minutes to use the bathroom. I thought they would be okay. I'm very sorry." With that she stomped off, dragging Aaliyah alongside her. Clarence sternly told Jake to keep their door locked, then followed his family to their tent.

"Great," Jake spat, making sure to glare at the kids when he passed them on his way to the trailer. Lauren trailed after him, fidgeting nervously with her hands.

Peggy clapped her hands together. "Alright, show's over."

As everyone began to go their separate ways, Rachel lead Emma into the trees, where they could talk without fear of eavesdroppers.

"Mom," Emma whined, pulling her arm out of Rachel's grip. She almost stumbled over a tree limb and whirled around to face her mother, eyebrows furrowed angrily.

"What is wrong with you?" She demanded, unable to stop herself. This was her little girl! Her responsible, smart, sensible little girl who certainly knew right from wrong.

"They're our guns anyway. I just wanted to look."

"I don't know what's going on with you but it stops _now_." When Emma rolled her eyes, Rachel took her by the chin. "You know better than to throw hissy fits and you know damn well you don't touch guns. You could have gotten killed."

"Aaliyah pulled the trigger," Emma argued.

"I don't care." Realizing her voice was getting louder with each word, Rachel took a moment to get herself under control. "How did you even get in there without anybody noticing?"

"Samantha had her back to us so all we had to do was sneak in one at a time when everyone else was distracted."

Any reason Emma gave would not be acceptable, but Rachel couldn't imagine what would spur this behavior. "Why? What was the point?"

"It's dumb that only Samantha and Clarence have guns."

"That is none of your concern."

Emma scoffed. "Everything that's happened, everything I've seen, and you still think I'm a baby."

"Where is this coming from? It's our job to protect you and we will." When Emma only glowered in return, Rachel continued. "A lot of things have changed, but one thing that hasn't is you're still ten years old. You don't think that makes a difference right now, but I promise you you'll understand when you're older. I know things have been hard and scary and you feel hopeless. But Emma...the truth is it isn't going to get any better. We're over two months into this and there's no one to turn to anymore. The refugee center's gone. We have to rely on each other and I can't rely on you if you're going to act like this. Everybody has a role, and yours is still to be a kid. That's what I need you to do."

All the fight left Emma at once. She moved to a nearby log and plopped down. "I was the one who pulled the trigger, not Aaliyah," she admitted. "I didn't mean to. I just picked up the gun because I wanted to see what it felt like and...I don't know."

"Was it your idea to go in there?"

Emma nodded and directed her gaze to the spruce needles beneath their feet. "Aaliyah wanted to do it but Adrian didn't. We made him come because we thought he'd tell."

"Thank you for telling me the truth." Anguish began to overtake Rachel's anger. She turned away for a moment, willing the burning tears in her eyes to not fall. What was this world turning her daughter into? None of them were exactly the same people they were before the outbreak, but Emma's changes began at Fort McAdams. She became quiet and withdrawn, and Rachel just figured she was shy. That just became their new normal. She didn't want another 'normal', not one where Emma was meticulous and conniving and angry. Forcing her emotions down and burying them deep, Rachel turned back to Emma and crouched before her. "From now on, you think about kid stuff. Play hide and seek and play with Aaliyah's dolls. Leave the rest of it to me and Papa. Don't touch another gun and don't worry about walkers. We will protect you."

Emma nodded earnestly. "I won't mess with the guns anymore. I promise."

"And if you see the other kids trying to mess with them, you tell someone. Okay?"

"Okay."

She was agreeable and seemed genuine enough, but Rachel couldn't help the nagging voice in the back of her mind. _She lied to you once already. She snuck into a trailer and picked up a gun._ That caused the anger to return, full force. Damn that girl. Damn her for ruining the trust between them. With a sigh, Rachel stood up. "I think you've caught on that we can't exactly ground you or really punish you at all."

Despite Emma's obvious efforts not to, she smiled.

If the situation wasn't so serious, Rachel might have laughed too. Instead she sternly pointed a finger at Emma, and didn't speak again until the smile disappeared. "I need you to behave like the young woman I know you can be. That means everything I said before, and no more lying."

"Okay," Emma repeated, some irritation in her tone this time. "I told you, I'll behave."

"Let's head back." A jolt of panic made Rachel's heart pound as she suddenly remembered she was supposed to be keeping an eye on Kate. She grabbed Emma by the wrist and jogged along, trying not to let her imagination run wild. After all, Kate seemed perfectly fine all morning. When they re-entered camp Rachel stumbled to a slower pace, ignoring Emma's perplexed questions.

Clarence met her halfway to the Wallace's trailer. He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "I know this probably isn't the best time, but Keisha wants - "

"Fine," Rachel interrupted, not really interested in what Keisha wanted. "Just let me see how Kate's doing first."

"Alright." Clarence crossed his arms.

Allowing Emma to pull away, Rachel entered the trailer. Both the dinette booth and kitchen were vacant. The bathroom was simply a toilet and shower stall, and Rachel could see Kate wasn't in there either. All that left was the bedroom. Rachel's panic came to a climax when she reached the door and slid it open to find that room as empty as the rest. _You weren't gone more than fifteen minutes_ , she told herself. _How much trouble could Kate get into in fifteen minutes?_

Rachel opened the front door and re-entered camp. To no one in particular, she asked, "Has anyone seen Kate?"

"I did." Samantha climbed off the Petersons' trailer using the ladder and hopped onto the ground once there was only one rung left. "She said she was going for a walk. She wanted to see the creek."

An intense feeling of dread came over Rachel. There were only two ways this could go. Either Kate was truly fine and just wanted to go for a walk, or she wasn't in her right mind and up to something devious. Either one would get her in hot water with Marvin, but she hoped it was the first option. "Shit," she cursed.

"Don't worry about it." Samantha replied dismissively. "She's fine, she doesn't even look dehydrated."

Clarence pushed himself away from the tree he'd been resting on and sauntered over. Gaze glued to Rachel, he stopped beside her and once again crossed his arms. "Anything you want to tell us?"

* * *

"What do you mean it's not going to open? It has to fucking open, Jerome!"

"We're either leaving the way we came in or we're not leaving." If Ben read between the lines, he'd hear what Jerome couldn't bring himself to say: they were going to die. No matter how much they fought, they'd either be overpowered or run out of ammo. They weren't going to just die, they were going to be torn limb from limb while they were still alive. Then they'd become members of the nameless, mindless, people-eating army. Rachel and Emma would never know what happened to him, Kate wouldn't get her medicine, Marvin would lose his son, and those at Red Fox would be left to lead themselves in Ben's absence.

"I can't stay here much longer." No sooner than the words were out of Ben's mouth, a pale hand reached through the shelves and clamped onto his shoulder, effectively pinning Ben against the shelf. The walker, a particularly scrawny young man, tried his best to pull himself in further. Ben hollered, "Get it off!"

Before Jerome even had time to think about it, he was across the room with his knife in his hand. Completely oblivious to anything but the meal before him, the walker pressed on even when his scalp caught on the shelf's edge and sloughed off like a banana peel. Jerome raised the knife high and jammed it into the exposed skull. The walker immediately went limp and slid back out the window, nearly taking the knife with it. Jerome snatched it back, the sickeningly mushy noise almost turning his stomach.

"Thanks," Ben said, voice strained. "Think you can do that twenty or thirty more times?"

"I guess we're gonna find out." A new walker took the other one's place. This time a female, with scraggly blonde hair and half her face missing where someone else tried to take care of her. What remained of her jaw clacked together hard. When she got close enough, Jerome drove his knife into her forehead. After extracting his weapon, he shoved her back out with his foot.

"I don't think you'll draw anymore in if you shoot some of them." Ben strained to keep the shelf in place. "Whatever you do, just hurry."

Not wanting to put his knife down even for a moment, Jerome kept it in his hand and simply used that arm to rest his shooting hand on. He fired once and flinched at the noise. By the third or forth shot he began to get used to all of it. The ringing in his ears, the rhythm of shooting walkers as soon as their heads appeared through the gap, the smell of gunpowder and death, the blood, brain matter, and skull fragments exploding in all directions every time he hit the mark. By the fifth one, every bit of guilt and remorse he felt for these monsters had disappeared. He could shoot them in the neck or chest and it wouldn't phase them. They could rip half their own faces off just trying to get inside and they kept coming. These were not people and there was not one ounce of humanity left anywhere in them. Comparing them to animals wasn't accurate either; even animals had more sense. This realization fueled him. For a short while he took satisfaction in pulling the trigger and watching another walker cease to exist. Until one time, he pulled the trigger and nothing happened. He tried two more times, getting nothing but soft clicks in response.

Jerome sprinted to the desk and tore into his backpack. Two boxes of ammo seemed like more than enough that morning, but with what faced them he began to wonder how long it would last. As soon as he removed the tray, it slipped out of his trembling hands. Fifty bullets scattered across the desk and the floor, some rolling as far as the blood and glass spill by Ben.

"Just open the other box," Ben commanded. He grimaced with the effort of keeping the shelf in place against the relentless walkers. Much smaller than the others, another one began to climb inside. She pulled herself in clear up to her emaciated hips before she began to struggle.

All of Jerome's previous bitterness disappeared just as quickly as it had come. This walker wasn't just small, it was a little girl - or used to be. Thinking about the stories these walkers must have was hard enough, but a child was almost too much. Her parents probably didn't even know if she was dead or alive. _What if that was your daughter? Would you want a stranger putting her down?_ Before he delved too deep into that, Jerome tore his gaze away and busied himself with loading the revolver.

"That's not Emma." Ben stated softly, barely audible over the groaning.

Jerome tensed, unsure what to make of that statement. Ben meant well, no doubt, but hearing his inner thoughts called out made him uncomfortable. After snapping the chamber shut, he scooped up some of the bullets from the floor and put them in his pocket, got his knife, and resumed his earlier stance in front the window.

"I know that," he finally replied. Unable to help himself, he took in her appearance. She was probably twelve or thirteen. Her hair was long but matted, and still pulled into braids on either side of her head. The blouse she wore was torn from the shoulder down, exposing her chest. A deep bite in the crook of her neck festered with maggots. Jerome's time to dwell on it was up. She got her waist over the window's edge and neared Ben. Numbing himself as best as he could, Jerome looked at her once again, this time through the sights on his gun, and pulled the trigger. Like the others, her head exploded. Only instead of falling back out the window, she stayed put. Jerome's heart sank.

"I've got it." Ben wiggled his arm down the shelf and braced his hand against her head. When he pushed she didn't go back out the window, she just folded. With a pained expression, he grabbed her by what was left of her hair and yanked. Her corpse jerked roughly and fell to the floor, her limp appendages squishing when they connected with the linoleum floor.

Time blurred together after that. Jerome was running on autopilot, acting purely out of instinct. He shot walkers until his palms ached from the gun's recoil, and stabbed them in between gathering bullets from the floor and reloading. Soon, the bodies no longer slid back out the window. The pile outside must have been too high. They had to be pulled inside instead, which was an unpleasant task. Daylight became visible through the sparse walkers outside, and by that time Ben and Jerome were ankle-deep in corpses. Their process continued until finally, no more walkers appeared.

Neither of them moved. Jerome strained his ringing ears to listen for any signs of undead beyond the window. There was not any. No groaning or moaning or any of the other terrible sounds they made. In fact, it seemed everything had fled the area; he didn't even hear birds chirping. Finally, he tucked the revolver back into his waistband and made a mental note to switch it with something he wouldn't have to reload so often. He wiped his grimy palms down the front of his already blood-splattered coat. "I think that's it."

Ben stepped away and allowed the shelf to fall forward. Wincing, he rolled his undoubtedly stiff shoulders back and forth. "Let's get the hell out of here."


	5. Wish You Were Here

**TWO MONTHS EARLIER…**

"Hey," Ben called up the stairs. "I found it."

"Alright, I'm coming." Kate stepped out of their bedroom closet and shut the door, irritated the radio wasn't where she thought it was. Every time they looked for anything, it wasn't where it was supposed to be, and usually Ben would miraculously come up with it. She flipped off the light and made her way downstairs. Ben stood in the kitchen, muttering under his breath while he rifled through the junk drawer. Coupons and plastic utensils fell out here and there until he tossed five batters onto the countertop and shoved the drawer shut. He lifted the radio and puffed at it. A year's worth of dust and cobwebs fluttered off. The only thing such an outdated piece of technology was good for was severe weather updates, and in this case, Emergency Alert System broadcasts. Mary had been updating them about her and Marvin's journey to their house via text message, and told Ben there was new information on the radio. He'd tried to text their friends several times but had yet to get any response. Ben turned the boom box around and slid off the back panel. He fumbled with the batteries, but once they were inserted, the radio immediately filled the room with a religious broadcast.

" _The rapture is upon us, my friends. Now is the time to repent. Now is the time to ask our lord and savior for salvation…"_

Ben hastily turned the knob, trying to find something in the static. Finally, he came across the unmistakable automated voice of an emergency broadcast.

"...  _Fairbanks has been downgraded temporarily to a seven with attacks and rioting reported in all precincts. Citizens are currently advised to stay in their homes or move towards the cities of Fairbanks, Anchorage, and Juneau. If citizens choose to stay in their homes they are urged to be near their radios and await further instructions. Moving into the cities of Fairbanks, Anchorage, or Juneau may become necessary to ensure the safety of all citizens._ "

"Anchorage and Juneau are five hundred miles apart. What are they thinking?" Kate wondered aloud. Ben shushed her, but that didn't stop her racing mind. She'd never heard any broadcasts quite like that, even in the worst of blizzards. They were once without power for five days straight and nothing as ominous came on the radio.

" _...uncountable severe emergencies in all counties, Alaska cities and their levels of disaster are as follows...Anchorage, stage seven catastrophe. Nome, stage nine catastrophe. Fairbanks, stage nine catastrophe. Juneau, stage eight disaster. Once again, Nome and Fairbanks are now stage nine catastrophes…"_

As the message began to repeat, Ben lowered the volume. He turned to Kate and placed his hands upon her shoulders. "What do you think we should do?"

"You're asking me?" Kate smiled despite the tears welling in her eyes. How sweet of him to think she'd even have an idea.

Ben chewed his bottom lip for a few seconds, a sure sign he was deep in thought. "We could board up the windows and hunker down in the basement."

He didn't sound very sure of his own idea, which made it easier for Kate to shoot him down. "That sounds like a terrible idea."

"We'll just see what my parents think."

Kate had to bite her tongue and remind herself this wasn't the time to voice her opinion on his parents. She was glad Marvin and Mary were coming, and every so often she said a silent prayer for them. But Ben's over-reliance on them never ceased to irritate her. It was like he never grew out of that phase where kids think their parents are gods. Kate opened her mouth to say something supportive, but the radio began a new message. She moved out of Ben's arms and turned the volume back up.

" _Refugee centers offering food, water, and shelter are being set up across the state of Alaska. Their locations are as follows...in Anchorage, William H. Seward High School at sixteen-hundred and two south Main Street. In Fairbanks, Fort McAdams military base at twenty-two-hundred Daphne Road. In Juneau…"_

"Fort McAdams?" Ben's eyes went wide. He strode over to their old wall phone and snatched up the notepad and pen that lay on the stool beneath it. "What'd it say? Twenty-two-hundred Daphne Road?"

"I think so. Is that where we're going?"

"Maybe." As the broadcaster rambled on about various centers in other cities, Ben tore the paper from the notepad. "In any case, we're going somewhere. You should start packing. I'll take care of the food and water."

"Alright. I'll pack our clothes and get our lockbox out." With something to focus on other than the uncertainty that face them, Kate gladly went back upstairs. She returned to their bedroom closet and flipped the light on. Among the clutter and out of season clothing, she found their luggage from when they went to Hawaii. No matter how much she tried, she couldn't pretend they were going on another vacation. She'd never been terrified to go on vacation before. Her palms sweated against the faux leather when she heaved the suitcases out from the bottom of the heap and tossed them on the bed. Turning towards their shared dresser, she didn't even take one step before her jewelry box caught her eye. Such frivolous, material items were the last things she should have been thinking of in that moment, but she couldn't help it. She pulled open one of the little mahogany drawers and eyed the necklaces inside. Her grandmother's pearls, the diamond and opal necklace Ben gave her for their fifteenth anniversary...how could she leave them behind? Hurriedly, she pulled the necklaces out and placed them in the suitcase pocket. Next went her various bracelets and rings, and finally she moved onto the dresser drawers themselves. Packing for Ben was easy enough considering he only wore t-shirts and cargo pants. Her clothes on the other hand...dresses, skirts, and halter tops were fashionable, but certainly not practical. She instead went for denim bottoms and basic tops, as well as sneakers instead of the heels she currently wore. She piled it all into her suitcase and thought it was going to burst at the seams. Just as she pulled the zipper shut, she heard two car doors thump closed.

Ben once again hollered from downstairs. "They're here."

Kate returned to the kitchen just in time to see Ben leading his parents in from the garage. To Kate's surprise, Marvin immediately pulled her into a hug.

"I'm so happy to see you two. You just don't know." He stepped back and exhaled shakily. "You wouldn't believe it out there."

Mary sniffled and patted her eyes dry with a tissue from her purse. "People are looting, fighting in the street over a case of water, driving like maniacs…"

"Did you hear the radio? There's a refugee center nearby." Ben retrieved the paper from his pocket and handed it to his father. "Know where that is?"

Marvin hardly looked the address before he crumpled it up and tossed it to the floor. "I raised you better than that, didn't I?"

Ben's face fell. "What?"

"The only ones we can rely on for protection are ourselves. Period." Marvin tapped his finger on the counter to punctuate his point. "Do you really think you can rely on the government to protect you?"

"I don't know…" Ben looked reluctantly to Kate.

"Are you kidding me?" Kate couldn't believe he would fold like a house of cards just because his dad didn't agree with him. "They just said it's insanity out there. I don't want to drive away from that, not into it."

"That's why we go off the grid," Marvin retorted, as if it were obvious. "There are plenty of places around Fairbanks that nobody will think to go. We can rough it on our own until this blows over."

"I do like the sound of that," Mary agreed.

Kate crossed her arms and gave Ben 'the look'. He hesitated for a moment, then came to put an arm around her.

"Maybe they're right…"

"Ben, we don't know anything about 'going off the grid'."

"Hey, three against one," said Marvin.

"Let's at least give it a shot. We can find somewhere secluded and live off the land. Sounds a lot better than going to some overcrowded refugee center to me. Think of it as a big camping trip."

"I hate camping," Kate grumbled. "But fine. Three to one, right? I'll just finish packing." Before anyone could say anything, Kate turned on her heel and stormed back upstairs. What did she expect? Her opinion never counted once those three got together and had their mind made up. Hopefully their decision wouldn't mean life or death for any of them.

As soon as Kate returned to the closet, she heard tires screeching outside. She rushed to window that faced the street and pulled the drapes open. At the next door neighbor's house, a car sat haphazardly by the curb. The driver's side door flung open and a young man hopped out. Kate thought she recognized him as the neighbor's step son, but she wasn't very close to anyone on the street. The man ran around to the passenger side and when he opened the door, a girl slumped out onto the grass. Her whole torso was red with what Kate could only assume to be blood.

"Help! Help us!" the boy yelled at his house. Kate's heartbeat quickened. Should she try to help? Was that the right thing to do? The girl looked like she was in bad shape, and Kate wouldn't know where to begin to help her. Just as she was about to go downstairs and tell Ben, the neighbor and her husband rushed down the driveway to greet them. Their faces paled when they saw the motionless girl.

That was enough. She let the curtains fall back into place and mechanically went back to packing their things. Was that all that awaited them out there? She believed what her inlaws said, but actually seeing it with her own eyes disturbed her.

"I don't want this to be it," Kate admitted, feeling foolish. She wiped her tears and focused again on their wedding portrait on the wall. "I love our life. I love our house. I don't want this to be the last time we're ever together here."

"It's not," Ben murmured, pulling her close. "Things are bad, but it can't last forever. No matter how many people are being 'attacked', we've got the military and a lot of heavily armed rednecks on our side."

"What if it's everywhere? Before the television stopped, the newscaster said the other states report the same things. They're just as bad as us, maybe even worse. First it was just the east coast, now they're talking about the west coast and the Midwest...that's everywhere, Ben." She broke down. "What's happening? What's gonna happen to us?"

"Nothing will happen to us," Ben clutched her tighter. "I promise. I'll make sure of it."

* * *

**PRESENT**

Ben drove until there wasn't a walker in sight. He was wasting gasoline as well as time, but he feared he would lose his mind if he didn't get away from the business districts. When he found himself on a residential street, Ben rolled up to the curb and shut the engine off. Although the neighborhood was free of walkers, it was pitiful. Several of the houses had boarded up windows. All of the lawns were knee-high and filled with withered weeds. Remnants of a lifestyle long gone littered the yards and driveways. Toys and frivolous things like lawn furniture lay throughout the neighborhood, faded from the relentless elements and sunlight.

Even though he was physically away from the pharmacy, everything that happened there was still at the front of Ben's mind. Especially just how close they came to dying. None of his previous expeditions had taken such a bad turn, and he felt similar to when he killed a walker for the very first time. Lost. Hopeless. Unsure where to turn. Only this time, he had the added guilt to deal with. If he turned around and went back to camp empty handed, what would happen to Kate? He needed something to buy time until he could figure out a more long-term solution. He needed  _her_ , the real her, not who she was without medication.

"I think it's the explosion." Jerome suddenly interrupted Ben's musing. Whereas on their drive to Fairbanks he'd sat upright the whole time and seemed rather optimistic, he now slouched in the seat with his head resting against the window.

"What about it?"

"All the walkers back there. When I was still on the road yesterday, a pack or herd or whatever you want to call it was headed towards us. If noise is what gets their attention, you can't get much noisier than an explosion."

Ben blinked slowly, equal parts shocked and intrigued. He generally thought Jerome was dumb as a brick when it came to anything besides work, but his theory made a lot of sense. "Shit, Jerome. Why didn't you think of that  _before_  we drove into it?"

Jerome shrugged and didn't say anything further. He absently picked at a loose thread on his coat.

"What do you think we should do next?"

"I didn't go through all that just to turn around with nothing, if that's what you're asking."

Taken aback by this abrasiveness, Ben himself was silenced for a moment. "...of course I don't want to leave without her pills, but I don't even know where else to look."

"We can't go back empty handed." Jerome pushed himself into a sitting position. "This sucks and I wish we didn't have to do it, but we've come this far. So what we'll probably only find enough meds to last her a month? That's another month you'll get with Kate, and that's another month she'll get to be herself."

Ben took a moment to choose his next words carefully. He wasn't sure if this was the right time to express his thoughts on it or not, but morale couldn't get much worse anyway. "Look...about the time you had to dive across the room and pull a walker off me, I realized I never should have asked you to do this in the first place."

"If you didn't ask, I would have offered."

"I only asked in the first place because I knew you wouldn't say no." Ben felt both relieved to admit it and guilty. Jerome didn't react at all, which made Ben wonder if he already knew. Was he that transparent? "After everything you went through yesterday, you weren't even in camp a full day before I took you away from your family. I've realized over the past couple months that I was a shitty boss. How much extra work did you do that I didn't even pay you for? How many winters were you and me the only ones that didn't leave the mine? I don't want to do that anymore."

"Oh, knock it off." Jerome shifted uncomfortably in his seat and wouldn't look Ben in the eye.

"It wasn't right," Ben insisted. "It never was but it's so much worse now. You could have died. You're a good guy and - "

"Stop." Jerome clenched his fists. In a flat minute, his whole demeanor had shifted from uncomfortable to angry.

For the first time ever, Ben did as Jerome said. He went over the past few minutes in his head, trying to figure out what he could've said to piss him off. He could count on one hand the times he'd ever seen Jerome truly angry, and he hadn't been this outward about it with any of them.

"Don't ever call me that again. Good guys don't do the things I've done."

Assuming this was just Jerome being too hard on himself, Ben relaxed. "Killing walkers is what it is. That's the sad truth."

"I'm not talking about walkers," Jerome retorted. "When things went bad at Fort McAdams and we were trying to leave our barracks, one of the National Guard guys grabbed me. People were shooting and screaming...I could barely hear him. He just wouldn't let me go. I stabbed him, Ben, I stabbed him right in the guts."

"It sounds like that's what you had to do to get out of there alive." Ben couldn't imagine what this guilt was going to do to Jerome in the long run if he didn't start looking at it differently. Of course this was easier said than done, but if the roles were reversed, Ben didn't think he'd struggle with it so much. "I said it once, I'll say it again...it is what it is. That's all I can tell you."

"It is what it is?" Jerome repeated incredulously. He scowled at Ben for a long moment, then returned to his slouched position and gazed out the window. "We should head back."

 _He's not going to make it._  Before he could stop it, this thought hit Ben like a ton of bricks. Maybe it was because he'd already went through everything Jerome was feeling months earlier, or perhaps because he no longer gave much thought to the semantics of survival. In any case, he knew one thing for certain: if Jerome didn't change his outlook, he would die.

Gun in hand, Jerome trailed after Ben into yet another pharmacy. If he went the rest of his life without stepping into another one, he could die a happy man. This building wasn't as bad as the others but it was small, just one room not much bigger than the parking lot. It wasn't as vandalized as other places they visited, but little remained on the shelves. When he saw the bathrooms, Jerome tossed Ben the flashlight and pushed the men's room door open. Something about the restroom made him uneasy. The only light came from a small window above the stalls, and it was so quiet he could've heard a pin drop. After he finished his business, Jerome went over to the sinks. Having brains, guts, and blood all over him was something he didn't think he could ever get used to. He quietly hummed a tune just to distract himself from the silence and turned the faucet on. A weak, pathetic stream of water flowed out until it became just a few drips then halted completely. Jerome stopped humming and stared at it in disbelief. He tried the other two sinks and received similar results. Disappointed, he pushed the door open and returned to the main part of the pharmacy. Ben was still behind the desk, squinting at the abandoned prescriptions.

"How long has it been since the water stopped running?"

Ben sniggered, a playfulness about him. "Just since you went in there."

Jerome rubbed his chin, irritated both by the thickening stubble he found there and his own naivety. Why did he think there would there be running water? Surely Fort McAdams only did because of reserves. Even though he knew their electricity came from generators, he walked over and tried the light switches beside the bathrooms, disappointed when nothing happened.

"For the first few weeks it just depended on where you went whether they'd have power. Some places just had a messed up transformer from cars hitting the poles. But everything has been dark for a few weeks. Gas has been pretty screwy, but I suppose you know that."

Jerome moved to some shelves in the middle of the room, some miscellaneous items left on them. "We really didn't know how good we had it at Fort McAdams. I'm not sure if that's a good thing."

"Don't sweat it. I'm hoping we'll be able to find some generators for the next place we settle. We can make our own Fort."

Jerome's whirled around so fast it briefly made him dizzy. "Uh...next place?"

"You didn't think we were staying at Red Fox all winter, did you?"

"Why wouldn't we?"

Ben sighed, annoyed. "What's gonna happen when the temperature drops to fifty below and we're all sleeping in tents or trailers? When we can't get to the city to find food because we're snowed in?"

Jerome hadn't realized his faith in the mine was for six people, not over a dozen. What Ben said made sense, but it also stressed him out. Where were they going to go?

Before he could think about it too long, Ben continued. "Let's not focus on it right now. It's a little early to worry about it anyway. I figure a few weeks from now is when we should start looking for somewhere else. I keep my eyes peeled whenever I'm out, but I haven't seen anywhere yet that could sustain so many people. Right now we need to just…" When Ben trailed off, Jerome walked over to see what was going on. Ben removed a bottle of pills from a paper baggy and grinned.

"Is it the Tryptophan?" Jerome peered over his shoulder to read the bottle.

" _Thorazine_ ," Ben laughed. "No, but it'll work. This is what the doctor recommended when me and Kate were going to try...anyway, the important thing is I've heard of it and I know it works for schizophrenia."

Both of them jumped when a walker suddenly pounded against the window behind them. She looked very business like with her scraggly blonde hair pulled up, and her beige pantsuit. She groaned desperately, eyes flitting back and forth between them.

"Shut up," Ben groused. To Jerome, he continued, "We might as well go. I doubt I'm gonna find any more of this."

"Great," Jerome said, genuinely happy he found something that would work. Even with everything that happened, he didn't regret coming into the city and still hoped Kate would have some peace.

Ben fished the truck keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Jerome. "You drive."

* * *

As Clarence abruptly threw the ATV into a sharp turn, Rachel had to hang onto the seat for dear life to prevent being thrown from the vehicle. In the bed behind them, Dean reached forward and gripped the seats, eyes wide as saucers behind his glasses. Tree limbs cracked against the frame as they hurtled down the path beside the creek. Something about the cold.

"Kate!" Clarence bellowed. Between the three of them, they must have called her name a dozen times. He ran a hand over his overgrown buzz cut, displacing the various leaves and twigs that clung to his coarse, graying hair. Gold mining machinery and equipment obstructed the path ahead. At the sight of a backhoe, Clarence slammed on the breaks.

"We've gone up and down this creek twice." Dean stuck his head between the seats to join the conversation. "Maybe Marvin found her on the other side."

"He would have radioed by now." Clarence pounded his fists against the steering wheel, rocking the vehicle. When he turned to Rachel she had to look away. The anger in his eyes intimidated her, and she didn't want him to know that. He demanded, "What the hell is wrong with ya'll? Did you think we were going execute her on sight if we found out she was schizophrenic?"

As guilty and remorseful as Rachel felt, she didn't think Clarence was being fair. After all, she had not had a say in any of this. Jerome  _told_  her not to tell anyone about Kate, and Marvin _told_  her he wouldn't be gone long. "I have nothing to do with it, it's not even any of my business. I was just doing what Ben told me to."

"Just following orders, huh?" Clarence sniped. "This isn't the Gestapo. Around here if you know something that can affect everyone else, you say something."

Dean tried, "We - "

"She is his wife!" She never gave much thought to why exactly they didn't want anyone to know about Kate, but why should she? That was their business. Of course she was going to respect their wishes, especially after Ben was gracious enough to welcome them into an already overcrowded camp. "What exactly are you so worked up about?"

"Ben lied! Not just to me, but to everyone. It's a slap in the face. Not only did he tell us she was 'just dehydrated', but I asked him directly if something else was up and he said no. My family came here with his. We've been helping keep this group alive from the start. And what did we get for it?"

Awed by such an over-reaction, Rachel blinked rapidly. "This wasn't a personal attack against you. He was looking out for Kate."

"Well, now we're 'looking out' for Kate," Clarence retorted. "Half our people are out scouring the woods when we should be doing some of the million things we need to do to keep the camp going. The hunting trip didn't even catch anything before I had to call them back. He said he'd take a walkie talkie and he didn't do that either."

"Enough," Dean interjected, louder this time. "Now is not the time for this."

Rachel was grateful Dean came along. When Clarence first called them back to camp, she had been less than enthusiastic about going into the woods with two strangers. But at least they had a voice of reason around. "He's right."

Clarence huffed. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a few moments, then abruptly stopped. "Maybe she went to the scrapyard."

"That's not a bad idea," Dean said. "I don't have any better ones."

"Then hang on." Clarence drove just far enough forward so he'd have enough room to pull a u-turn. Slower than before, they traveled back the way they came, then went down an unmarked path. Instead of dirt like the other path, this one was mostly undergrowth, flattened by tire tracks. Clarence slowed to a stop. The chain-link fence surrounding the scrapyard bowed under the weight of low tree branches and various weeds. It was most likely silver at one time, but many years of exposure left it rusty brown color. Rachel followed Clarence through the open gate. She didn't see anything out of the ordinary and didn't hold much hope they were going to find her there.

"Kate," Clarence called for her once again, then listened for any movement. When only the chirping of birds replied, he sighed and turned to leave.

"Wait a minute…" Dean climbed out of the ATV and stopped at the gate. Squinting, he pointed towards a long pile of junk near the very back. A pair of legs stuck out from behind it. Almost certainly Kate's legs, considering it was her jeans and shoes.

"You two stay here." Clarence charged forward.

Of course Rachel didn't listen. If Kate was hurt, she wanted to be there. Some naive part of her hoped it was just a walker that happened to be wearing the same things, but she knew. Clarence tried to stop her but she stepped around him, only to stumble to a stop at the sight of her friend. There lay Kate, unmoving, with blood all down the front of her and splattered on the dirt. A kitchen knife lay beside her limp hand, blood from her sliced wrist pooling around it.

"Her wrists…" Clarence trailed off then cleared his throat.

Shock and despair almost brought Rachel to her knees. Of all the ways she expected to find Kate, this scenario never even entered her mind. She seemed like her usual self all morning. In fact, Rachel was surprised at just how much of herself she was. Why would she do this to her husband, her father-in-law, and her friends? Why would she do it to herself?

Dean solemnly joined them. Her nervously fidgeted with his hands. "Maybe it's not too late, we can revive her."

"No, it's too late." Rachel spoke around her sobs. She'd seen enough people like Kate dragged into the emergency room by their distraught family members to know it was far too late.

"You don't need to look anymore," Clarence said softly, turning Rachel away from the body. "I'm sorry."

Unable to tear his gaze away from her, Dean's face started to pale. "Why would she do this?"

"Maybe that's not for us to know." Clarence unclipped the walkie-talkie from his belt. "I'm going to tell Marvin we found her and to come back to camp, and that's all I'm going to say. He needs to hear this face to face."

"Shouldn't we cover her up or something?" Dean asked.

"This is a family matter. We'll let Marvin decide what to do."

"I-I'm gonna go back to the ATV, I can't…" Rachel swiped her wrist along her nose, snot smearing onto her sleeve. Tears blurred her vision and she almost tripped more than once on her way out of the scrapyard. How could a woman that seemed perfectly fine half an hour ago have taken her own life? And  _why_? Clarence might've been right - maybe it wasn't any of her business. But the question wouldn't stop begging to be answered no matter how much she tried to push it away. In the end, Rachel blamed herself. She was warned, and she was given a job. Had she stayed where she was supposed to, Kate might have lived.

Rachel reached the ATV and sat in the passenger seat. Not long after buckling herself in, Clarence and Dean returned. Clarence drove much slower this time, the sense of urgency gone. None of them uttered a single word. Only the rumbling of the motor and the wheel's treading through the undergrowth broke up the silence.

Marvin was waiting for them when they pulled into camp. He paced back and forth behind the bus, and was instantly at Clarence's side once they were parked.

"Well?" He demanded, perplexed. "Where is she?"

"Let me," Dean said as Clarence reluctantly opened his mouth to speak. Rachel was glad he volunteered, since she wasn't sure she could keep it together if she had to tell him. Slowly, and with several of his bones popping, Dean hopped out the back of the ATV to face Marvin. "Come with me and - "

"No," Marvin countered impatiently, looking back and forth at the three of them like they were crazy. His gaze landed on Rachel's tearstained face, and a sudden sense of dread seemed to come over him. His lips drew into a thin line. Barely above a whisper, he repeated, "Where is she?"

Dean anxiously looked around him. All of the camp had assembled at the news of Kate's disappearance, and now they stood nearby, waiting expectantly. Lowering his voice, Dean said, "She's gone, man. We found her at the scrapyard. She, uh...took her own life."

Ever so briefly, Marvin's bottom lip quivered. Rachel wasn't sure if he was going to cry or punch Dean in the face. Then, just as quickly as the emotion came, it went. He sniffed. "Is she still just laying there?"

Despite all the stress and grief Marvin must have been working through, he was all business. He stood with hi hands on his hips, waiting expectantly for an answer. If someone didn't know better, they would never guess he was asking about someone that was like a daughter to him. Rachel couldn't imagine how he felt. The whole situation was so terribly wrong in every way. If it wasn't bad enough he lost his daughter-in-law, his son didn't even know she was dead and was still out searching for her medication. For all they knew, he was dead too.

After sharing a look of guilt with Dean, Clarence answered, "Well...yeah. We didn't think we should do anything until we talked to you."

Marvin nodded a single time. "No funeral until Ben gets back, but I can't just let her lay there. I'm going to at least cover her up."

"Let us take care of it," Dean insisted. "Nothing about this is right but you shouldn't have to deal with this so...intimately. Think of us as morticians."

Marvin paused and shook his head, not as a rejection but out of exasperation. "Thank you."

They began to separate and Rachel couldn't fight the feeling that this wasn't right. How could this be it? "We should do something, there has to be more. A headstone, or - "

"No," Marvin snapped, the abrupt anger in his voice allowing no interuptions. He pointed a shaking finger at Rachel. " _You_  have done enough for Kate, don't you think?"

* * *

Brandon pulled the ATV into the scrapyard, relieved he got it there without flipping it or ending up in the creek. With all the drama surrounding Kate's death, he figured the least he could do to help out was deal with the body. Among everyone in camp he had the least connection to her, which he hoped would make this 'mortician mission' easier. He stepped out of the vehicle and went to the back to retrieve a large tarp Clarence found in camp. Pulling it out of the ATV was awkward and noisy, but with Dean's assistance he made it all the way to...her. He'd seen plenty of dead bodies over the past few months, but something about seeing someone healthy who took their own life saddened him. Her exposed forearms were sliced extensively, from wrist to the crook of her elbow. Just that morning she'd seemed healthy, both physically and mentally. That was the only time Brandon saw her, and they didn't exchange more than a couple words.

Forcing the thoughts out of his mind, Brandon tried to think of this as a job...a very weird, depressing job. "I'll lay the tarp out then we'll put her on it and go from there, okay?"

"Alright." Dean sighed. He pulled on a pair of gloves from his vest and tossed them to Brandon before pulling out another pair for himself.

Brandon was suddenly very grateful Dean had enough forethought to bring gloves. The unnatural limpness of her legs felt strange in his hands, and he didn't want to know what it would feel like with direct contact. Dean braced his hands under her armpits and together, they lifted her. She was much heavier than Brandon was expected, and he unintentionally grunted with the effort of carrying her. Their trek to the tarp was stilted and when they finally reached it, Brandon's muscles trembled with the effort of laying her down gently.

Dean hovered for a moment, then awkwardly crossed her arms over her abdomen. When he noticed Brandon's confused expression, he explained, "It seems more professional than just tossing her on there and rolling her up like a burrito."

"Whatever floats your boat, dude." Brandon worked quickly rather than meticulously. He took each corner of the tarp and pulled it across her until she was mostly covered. To their dismay, the tarp was smaller than expected. Kate's arms and feet peeked out from the blue covering.

One of them had to walk backwards on the way back to the ATV, and Brandon decided he was probably the more coordinated of the two. He and Dean reclaimed their posts and once again lifted the body. Brandon peered over his shoulder periodically to make sure he wasn't going to trip over or run into anything. Right as they went through the gate, the legs within the tarp moved. Brandon halted and didn't move a muscle. Was it just from the movement of them carrying her, or was Kate alive? No, that couldn't be. Anybody whose wrists looked like that had to be gone.

"Did she…." Dean trailed off, his widened eyes flicking from the body in his grasp to Brandon. A raspy intake of breath from within the tarp accompanied more movements, and this time there was no mistake Kate herself was the cause.

"Put her down!" Brandon dropped her legs without hesitation and reached for his gun, cursing when his hands found nothing but his own hip. At Clarence's insistence, he and Carmen handed in their guns the night before. Dean lowered Kate's torso to the ground, but when he went to stand up, an arm reached from the tarp and stiff fingers latched onto his sleeve. Dean shouted and jumped backwards, bringing Kate with him.

"Don't you have a gun on you?" Clarence's rule about too many guns floating about camp had just seemed dumb at the time, but Brandon feared it would be their death sentence.

"No!"

As the name of the place suggested, the only thing Brandon saw around was scrap. Small pieces of metal, old machinery and things he couldn't even identify. Nothing that looked remotely heavy or blunt enough to crush a skull. At a loss for what else to do, Brandon grabbed Dean by the back of the coat and heaved. Rather than separating the two like he hoped, all three of them tumbled to the ground. Kate crawled from the tarp, her lifeless yet ravenous eyes zeroed in on Dean. Before he could right himself, Kate was on top of him, her face a mere foot from his. Dean caught her around the throat and squeezed. All this did was quiet her moans to a gurgle.

Brandon scrambled to his feet and surged to the nearest junk pile. He grabbed the first thing he laid eyes on, which was an old fire extinguisher. Taken back to his little league days, he swung it as hard as he could at the back of Kate's head. The canister made a loud ringing sound when it connected with her skull, but Kate barely faltered.

"Do something!" Dean wailed. He wrapped his legs around Kate's and tried in vain to get an advantage over her.

Brandon returned to the pile. He dropped the extinguisher when he spotted some kind of engine. There was no time to consider anything else, as much as he would have liked to. He gripped the hunk of junk the best he could and lifted, almost falling over from the weight of it. He turned around just in time to see Kate sink her teeth into Dean's bicep.


	6. Sweet Dreams

Paralyzing pain shot up and down Dean's arm. All he could do was scream. For the pain, for the despair, for the fury he felt that he was going out like this. Kate reared her head back, a hearty chunk of his flesh and muscle dangling from her mouth. She was just about to go back for seconds when Brandon appeared. He grabbed Kate by the hair and yanked her backwards, sending her to the ground. Her focus now on Brandon, she was only stalled for a moment before she found her footing and rose again. Brandon rushed to a nearby engine block, from an old truck judging by the size. He gripped it tightly and grunted with the effort, almost falling over when he managed to lift it up. Kate started towards him and he swung his leg into hers, knocking her flat on her back. Brandon hurried forward and held the engine overtop her face, then let it fall out of his arms. Her skull folded in on itself like a rotted pumpkin. Brain matter sprayed out in every direction, and she did not move again. Brandon's breaths came in short puffs. He stepped around the mess and leaned against the fence.

Agony faded to numbness while Dean was watching the fight. He chalked it up to adrenaline and shock. However, when he looked back to his arm, he could hardly believe it belonged to him. Beneath a thin layer of exposed tendons, he could see his bone. Loose flesh hung by a thread, intertwining with the torn pieces of his coat. Blood saturated his whole arm and torso, a dark crimson that drowned the blue and beige colors of his clothes.

"Fuck," Brandon panted, his voice cracking. He wiped a hand down his face, only smearing the gunk around. The splatters covered his entire front side, from his black sweater to his jeans. Any cleanup short of a shower was futile. He reached up and untied the bandana around his head. The raven hair it held back fell almost to his shoulders, a mane that fell in his face while he walked over to Dean. "Here, let me…"

Dean held still while Brandon wrapped the makeshift tourniquet around his wound. Whatever allowed the pain to fade disappeared, and as soon as Brandon pulled touched him, and it was all Dean could do not to scream in the poor boy's ear. He wrapped it around once more then tied it, pulling it even tighter. This sent the churning of Dean's stomach into overdrive and rolled onto his knees just as bile and his lunch forced their way up his throat. The stench made him heave again and again until everything he had in his stomach sat in a sizeable pile below. When that was done, Brandon held out his hands and encouraged Dean to use them to get into a standing position, making him feel much like the old man he was.

"She was bit, right?" Brandon's uncertainty played across his face, his features creased with confusion. "I don't get it, why wouldn't they tell us?"

"You know as much as I do," Dean replied. His mind couldn't be farther from wondering about how Kate got the way she did. The important part was he was going to be just like her before long. Every waking moment after his daughter was bit, Dean asked God to let her take his place. Experiencing it for real made him want to grieve all over again. The pain and despair Melissa must have felt, and all the while she slapped on a happy face for her family. Dean wasn't so sure he was going to be able to do that.

"Let's get you back to camp. Rachel said she was an operating room nurse, so maybe she can at least give you something for the pain."

Just as quickly as they arrived, Brandon and Dean were back into the ATV and on their way to camp. Dean appreciated Brandon's efforts to drive around bumps, holes but every movement still vibrated right up into his arm. Covered in his own blood, obviously freshly spilled, Dean felt like he was on display as soon as they rolled into camp. Brandon didn't look much better off, since he practically acted as a backboard for Kate's brains. With Dean there was an obvious source; the bandana around his arm, absent from Brandon's head, had become oversaturated with blood on their short drive from the scrapyard.

Behind the lineup of trailers, Adrian and Carmen sat beneath the spruces, making a town out of rocks, sticks, and whatever else they could find. At the sight of Brandon, Adrian abandoned the project and ran over, his sneakers leaving imprints in the loose dirt. He was at his father's side before he could even step out of the ATV, looking him up and down with big puppy dog eyes. "Daddy, did a monster get you?"

Brandon shook his head and motioned to the filth covering his frontside."Don't worry, it isn't mine."

Sitting at the picnic table just a few feet away, Clarence and Marvin were the only ones within earshot. Clarence, who seemed especially troubled by this comment, stormed over with a distinct 'what now' expression that quickly morphed to one of surprise when he saw Dean's arm.

A nervous sweat began to prickle Dean's forehead. There was no good way to tell them what happened or how, nor was there any way to predict how they would react. With a heavy sigh, Dean decided it would be best just to get it over with. "Kate turned when we were carrying her to the ATV."

"That's impossible." Marvin stood from the picnic table and joined Clarence. He opened and shut his mouth a couple times before finally finding words. "S-she wasn't bit or anything, she hasn't even seen a walker in months."

"That's not exactly true." For once Clarence gave up the tough guy act and clapped Marvin on the shoulder. He lowered his tone, presumably so Adrian wouldn't hear. "There was a one at the fence when she was in the scrapyard yesterday. It sounds like you guys don't really know what all happened, and - "

"Right, at the fence." Curling his lip indignantly, Marvin shrugged off Clarence's hand. "How dumb do you think me and Ben are? We shared a trailer for God's sake, don't you think we would've noticed?" Though Dean wasn't going to say it, he could see Marvin's point. Getting bit wasn't clean or subtle, as evidenced by his own appearance. Scratches weren't ruled out, yet Dean had a gut feeling there was something else going on.  _If there is, you won't be around to find out._  This realization brought a jolt of panic over him, and he took a deep breath to get a handle on his emotions.

"What other explanation is there?"

"Might be more than you think." Carmen, who had been indifferent thus far, rose from her spot in the dirt. She sauntered over to the ATV, lips pursed with reluctance. To Brandon, she said, "Do you remember that crazy old bag we met back in Palmer?"

Brandon paused for a moment before realization spread across his face. "Yeah, the one who said it doesn't matter how you die, you turn. I thought she was off in the head, but heck…"

Marvin cut Brandon a look of disbelief. "You really believe that?"

"Last I knew, bites and scratches are what do you in. But there's no question Kate turned. Something caused her to, and if she wasn't bit or scratched, I don't know what to believe." Rising from the ATV, he lifted Adrian into his arms and held him close, an anchor against the uncertainty that faced them.

Tired of listening to the discourse, Dean used the vehicle's frame to pull himself to his feet. "In any case, she took a nice chunk out of my arm. I know what it means and…" Dean trailed off as a strange feeling came over him. The edges of his vision darkened, and for a short while he felt like he was in a dream. He felt himself stagger to the left and start to fall.

"Whoa!" Clarence leapt forward and caught him, one hand landing on his wound.  _That_  brought him back. With a yelp, he tore himself out of Clarence's grasp and stumbled backwards, the black spots in his vision replaced with white splotches. Overtop Clarence's repeated apologies, Dean heard two sets of footsteps rush towards him.

"Grandpa!" Courtney's shocked voice came from somewhere in front of him. After a couple deep breaths, the pain began to subside and he managed to pry his eyes back open. Face slack with the beginnings of hysteria, Courtney couldn't look away from the bloody mess on his bicep. Behind her, Peggy looked equally surprised for only a moment before she pursed her lips.

Brandon set his son down and hurried to Dean's side. He hovered for a moment, not wanting to cause a reaction like Clarence did but wanting to help. "I told you, dude, you need to go see Rachel."

"You're bit!" Courtney's words came out as more of a shriek than a statement. Her face crumpled and the light left her eyes, the devastation within them causing a feeling of despair within Dean. From the moment it happened Courtney had been his focus, and now she gave him something to focus on other than self-pity. His suffering would end in another day or so; hers would not.

"Yeah, I am." Dean stood a little taller at this admission, causing Brandon to step back. He wouldn't have them thinking he was scared. Dean Peterson did  _not_  scared, and he certainly did not need to be treated like a dead man walking. He extended his good arm and touched it to his granddaughter's cheek, hoping she couldn't feel the underlying tremble. What could say? Tell her not to worry, or that it would be okay? He didn't believe either of those, and this wasn't the time for comforting lies. "But I'm not gone yet."

Peggy stepped forward and took his hand. "Come on, Rachel's in the dining trailer. You interrupted dinner, you know."

Dean let Peggy lead him forward. Her gentleness a rare commodity he wasn't going to take for granted. He couldn't imagine where her head was. Did she still believe bites weren't a death sentence, or had she finally come to terms with it? If she had, why was she still at his throat for putting Melissa down? Dean pushed the thoughts out of his mind. For once, they were on the same side and he was damn well going to live in the moment.

* * *

Marvin's head whirled, trying to make sense of this situation. Things had gotten so terrible so quickly he hadn't had time to process any of it. On top of grief, now he had the added mystery of why in the world Kate would turn. If Carmen's claims were true and everybody turned regardless of how they died, that was scary - and he couldn't think of any other explanation.

"Hey, um…" Brandon hesitantly approached, wringing his hands together. "I'm sorry about Kate and coming back to camp like this. I didn't know what else to do. She was going to tear Dean apart."

Until that very moment, it hadn't occurred to Marvin that the muck covering Brandon was Kate's. A lump came to his throat. "Just make sure you're wearing something else by the time Ben gets back. He doesn't need to see this."

"No problem."

Keisha exited the dining trailer, herding Aaliyah and Emma in front of her. She said something to Samantha, who had remained at her sentry atop the Peterson's trailer throughout the excitement.

"Alright," Samantha said. She set her rifle down and started down the ladder. "Brandon, I'm gonna take the kids down to the creek for a little while, get them away from all of this. Adrian can come if you want."

Brandon opened his mouth to reply but Carmen beat him to it. "We're good." She took Adrian by the hand and shushed his protests, practically dragging him back to their play area beneath the trees.

"What's with all the noise?" Jake pushed his way out of his trailer, followed by Lauren. As soon as his gaze landed on Brandon, he looked the other man up and down, nose wrinkled. "And what the hell happened to you?"

Brandon glanced apologetically at Marvin before filling them in. "Kate came back while me and Dean were carrying her to the ATV. I...took care of her."

"She was bit?" Confused, Lauren tipped her head to the side.

"No. She wasn't bit _or_  scratched," Marvin replied, more harshly than intended. He wasn't sure how much he trusted Carmen's word. The logical conclusion was the walker got ahold of Kate, but he knew without a doubt that it never touched her. They were together constantly after that. There was no blood or fever, nothing to suggest she got bit. He couldn't give a better explanation than Carmen's theory, but how dumb did they think he was?

Clarence sighed and shared an exasperated look with Keisha. "Marvin, you'll understand if we don't believe you, right? Ben has proved telling the truth isn't his thing and you're just as guilty of lying about Kate as he is."

All the shock and grief Marvin felt was replaced with rage. A wave of heat flushed his cheeks, pounding against the cold. "You don't know everything. That walker never touched Kate. Period. I'm standing here trying to make sense of this and figure out how I'm going to explain all of this to my son and you're calling me a liar? Kiss my ass."

"You know what - " Clarence's face contorted with anger as he started forward, only stopping when Keisha grabbed his arm.

"Guys! Come on, stop it," said Brandon. "She's still there. We didn't get a chance to really do anything before she bit Dean, and I just wanted to get him back here. If you really want to settle this we can check."

"Good idea." Clarence stepped away from Kate, jaw working. "We need to know for sure what's going on. It can't hurt to look her over."

"Look her over?" Marvin spat. "Are you listening to yourselves? That's my daughter in law laying out there."

"What if she really did turn for no reason, then what?"

"Exactly!" Marvin replied. "Then what? What are you gonna get from desecrating her corpse?"

Keisha said, "Clarence is right, we need to know. Even if it's just for peace of mind. Who knows what it means if she somehow turned without being attacked."

"Stay away from her." Marvin spoke through gritted teeth.

"Marvin, I'm sorry but I want to know too." Lauren walked over to join Keisha and Clarence, making their alliance physical. "If what you say is true, you can't just pretend there's not something weird about this. I can't believe you don't want to know."

"What I want is for her to be left alone. Ever heard of letting the dead rest in peace? Ever since it happened she's been messed with nonstop. When does it end?"

Clarence's hands moved to his waist, his signature 'I'm the boss now' stance. "None of this would have happened in the first place if you and Ben hadn't been keeping secrets. Your say in what goes on around here is done when it concerns my family, and this concerns every last one of us."

"Of course." Realizing he was arguing with three brick walls, Marvin mentally checked out. They were going to do what they wanted, and he had no way to stop them. Motioning towards towards Keisha, he continued, "I heard how you feel about Ben the other day. Peggy and Samantha too, now Clarence. You all are happy to keep your mouths shut when Ben is keeping your bellies full and making sure we have what we need to survive, but it seems like there's a whole lot you haven't been saying. Talk about keeping secrets…if you've got a problem with either one of us, you're hypocrites."

For a moment it seemed Clarence would explode, then he sighed. "I don't want to argue with you. With everything that's happened, I can't imagine where your head is. But Marvin...I  _have_  to know for sure."

"Do whatever you want," Marvin replied, voice dripping with fake cheer. "That's what you always do anyway."

"Okay," Keisha interjected. "We don't have time for this. There's too much to do. We need to finish dinner, find more firewood, get a graveyard going."

"Don't forget about the nickel sized hole in my roof thanks to your kid," Jake sneered. He'd been so silent, sitting in the background watching...until something that concerned him came up, of course. "We tried to fix it from the inside and made it worse."

Marvin waved his hand dismissively. "Wait until Jerome gets back and ask him to do it."

Lauren quirked a brow. "Why?"

"Let's just say he'll give you better than a half-assed patch job." Marvin stopped at that, although a lot more was on the tip of his tongue. He'd been glad when the Dufour family showed up. Their arrival was a pleasant surprise, the kind that the world had been void of for the past couple months. Jerome would be useful - he was a jack of all trades and reliable. Rachel on the other hand...Marvin clenched his fists at the thought of her. If she could screw up a simple task to the point it resulted in death, what  _could_  they trust her with?

* * *

Ben sensed something was wrong the moment Red Fox came into view. Only a handful of people were in camp, and he knew from experience that people didn't become busier when the boss was away. Jerome parked the truck beside the bus, and Ben hopped out no sooner than he shut the engine off.

"Papa!" Emma came from the dining trailer, Rachel on her heels. She ran to greet her father and jumped into his arms, almost knocking him down. Nevertheless, Jerome laughed and whirled her around in a big circle before setting her back down. Rachel followed a little slower, waiting her turn before enveloping her husband in a hug. Something about her seemed strange, but Ben shrugged it off. Maybe she was still bothered by their lover's spat that morning.

Dad came from his trailer and strolled over, hands in his pockets. "Glad to see you boys made it back okay."

"Guess what I found?" Smiling, Ben pulled the prescription baggy from his pocket and held it up. "Not much, but it should last her until we figure out a long term solution."

"Oh, well...that's good." Dad exhaled like all the breath had been knocked out of him at once. Whatever facade he'd been putting up crumbled, marked by the tremble in his voice. "Ben, uh...look, let's just go in the trailer and talk for a minute, okay?"

After everything he went through in Fairbanks and everything that happened in the past few days, Ben didn't want to deal with anymore. And for his father to have such a strong reaction, whatever was going on had to be  _bad_. Ben instantly stiffened, his heart about to pound out of his chest. "What's going on?"

"Let's just go to the trailer."

"No." Despite only being a few yards away, Ben didn't want to be in the dark even a second longer. "Just spit it out."

Dad's gaze passed over the Dufours, hesitating for a moment before sighing. "Kate's gone, Ben. She went off and...she's gone."

"You mean she left camp again? Dad, I gave you one job, where - "

"Not like that," Dad interrupted. He clapped Ben on the shoulder. "She's  _gone_. She took her own life."

Overwhelmed, Ben's mind went into shutdown. This simply had to be a sick joke, or maybe Dad was being held hostage and forced to say such a thing. Those were the only logical explanations. Something so terrible couldn't be true. Kate would never. She must have just wandered off and they were making assumptions. "We need to go look for her."

Dad blinked slowly, his mouth opening and shutting while he searched for a response. "We've been waiting for you so we can have a funeral."

"It's my fault!" Rachel blurted. She pulled away from Jerome, who looked completely lost. Around her sobs, she clarified, "I was the one th-that was supposed to be keeping an eye on her. I got distracted when I heard a gunshot and it was Emma, she shot a hole in Jake and Lauren's trailer - "

"Emma messed with the guns?" Jerome's befuddled expression turned into one of disbelief. His eyes bore into Emma. The youngest Dufour stood with her back to her father, gaze firmly on her shoes.

Rachel continued as though he hadn't spoke. "It's on me. I'm sorry, I know that doesn't mean anything but  _God_ , I'm so sorry."

"So...she's really gone?" Reality came crashing down. Ben's knees felt like they might give out at any moment. His heart pounded faster than he'd ever felt it, yet his whole body felt numb and cold at the same time. He couldn't form any thoughts coherent enough to ask why or how.

Dad nervously ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know how else to tell you this, it's like kicking a man when he's you need to know...she turned too. Brandon and Dean were playing mortician and she got Dean right on the arm. Long story short, they checked and she wasn't even bit."

Ben wordlessly turned on his heel and walked to his trailer. He went inside, and as soon as the door shut behind him he stood there, listening to the quiet. None of Kate's soft snoring, no soft swoosh as she played solitaire, no hum of the shower. Just silence. Signs of her littered every inch of the trailer. Some of her dirty clothes piled up at the far end, her wedding ring on the counter, her faded deck of cards on the table. Some naive part of thought for a split second that she was coming back. Then, before the thought could even finish, the grief hit him like a train. His knees finally gave out and he found himself on the floor, weeping with the force of someone vomiting after a bender.

By the time Dad knocked on the door, Ben had no tears left. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but most of the daylight had faded. He used the table to pull himself to his feet.

Dad stood on the other side of the door, a solemn look upon his face. "Everyone's ready if you want to do the funeral now."

"Alright." It's not like he could wait a few days to get his head straight and mae arrangements. There would be no elegant coffin or even a headstone. No, she got to be buried in the middle of nowhere, in a place she never cared for, surrounded by people who hardly knew her.

Dad led the way. Jerome, Rachel, and Emma waited by the path out of camp. Once Ben joined them they made moved as one, Jerome illuminating the path with a flashlight. The trees overhead, however thin, blocked the remaining daylight. They trekked alongside the creek, heading east. Beggars couldn't be choosers, but Ben sincerely hoped they didn't bury her in the scrapyard. Jerome turned right far sooner than he would have if they were heading to the scrapyard, and Ben began to smell freshly upturned dirt.

"The shooting range," Ben said, his suspicions confirmed once he stepped through the foliage. All of the practice targets had been moved to a heap on the side. Everyone was there, though it was clear to see who actually wanted to be. Carmen, Peggy, Dean, Lauren, and Jake were the outcasts, standing off to the side chatting quietly amongst themselves. Up until that point, Ben had completely forgotten they had a dead man walking among them. Dean leaned up against a tree, looking as though he couldn't stand upright otherwise. Even in the dark, his gauntness was obvious. The thick bandaging around his upper arm was stained a rusty color.

Dad said, "Is it alright? I suggested it. I figure it's better than the scrapyard or somewhere random."

"It's fine." Ben's focus turned to the patch of upturned dirt. At the head of it sat a large rock. Somewhere underneath all that lay Kate. His wife, who died alone and then turned. Thinking about what she must have went through, not just when she turned but before, almost sent him into round two of grieving. Before he could lose it, Clarence and Keisha came to his side. Aaliyah moved to the headstone, a bundle of brightly colored weeds in her hand. She placed them at the base of the headstone.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Keisha said.

"Take as much time as you need to rest and grieve," Clarence added. "I'll take care of things."

"Thank you," was all Ben could muster.

As the Evans family moved away, Jerome took their place. "I don't know what to say," he confessed. "'I'm sorry for your loss'...it doesn't feel big enough."

"Words don't do anything." Ben struggled to drag his eyes from the grave, but when he did, he realized Jerome looked he'd been rode hard and put away wet. Dark circles gave color to his otherwise pale face.

"I know." They stood in silence for a few moments before Jerome spoke again. "I know Marvin does, but do  _you_  blame Rachel?"

"No." Ben didn't have to take time to think about it. Blaming Rachel never even entered his mind. "At the end of the day, she's not the one I told to watch Kate."

Jerome's eyes widened. He glanced at Dad to make sure he was still preoccupied talking to Dean before continuing. "You blame your dad?"

"No." Ben decided this wasn't the time nor the place to talk about who he really blamed, which was himself. There were too many 'should have, could have, would have' and 'what if' scenarios that Jerome would only try to talk him out of, and he wasn't in the mood. Deep down it was all on him and surely they all knew it. Had he just paid a little more attention and caught the pill situation earlier, none of this would have happened.

Before either of them could say anything further, Dad said, "Should we all say a few words about Kate?"

Ben nodded his approval and allowed Keisha to start it off. "I didn't know Kate very well or for very long, but she was one of the first people I met after everything started. She welcome my family with open arms at the end of the world, and as I've come to find out not many people are that selfless. She was one of a kind."

Rachel stepped forward next. "Kate was the perfect mixture of fire and ice, which I always admired. She was calm and collected but wouldn't hesitate to stand up for herself or those she cared about if she needed to."

Realizing it was his turn, Ben sighed. "I've never been good with words. What's there to say when the love of your life is gone? She deserves better than whatever I can say, I know that. 'Speak your heart' and all...well, my heart's gone. She took it with her."

* * *

Hours passed since the funeral, and while most of the camp had gone to bed long ago, the Peterson family was restless inside of their trailer. Dean was flattered, in a rather morbid way. Not word had been uttered for hours. Courtney sat at the dinette booth, the pale light from Dean's lantern glimmering against the tear tracks on her cheeks. Peggy sat on her bed back in the sleeping quarters. Every time their eyes met she'd look away and pretend to be preoccupied by something. They'd been married too long for him to buy it. She hadn't had two words to say to him all afternoon, and the only time Peggy was speechless was when she was feeling something she couldn't cover up with anger. Dean leaned against the counter to look outside. Ben still sat at the campfire, his gaze fixed on the tall flames. One by one everyone else had left, wholly unaffected by the day's events. Marvin and Jerome held out the longest, though the latter fell asleep in his chair not much sooner than he sat down in it.

Deciding it was time for the conversation he'd been dreading all day, Dean turned around and slid into the booth next to courtney. Neither of them said anything at first, then Dean pointed to his bleeding had stopped, but now the wound was simply covered with a strip of one of his old shirts. He was past the point of trying to keep it clean - what, should he worry about infection? With the nifty painkillers Ben and Jerome brought back, he could coast for the next few hours without being in agony, and that was all he needed. "We know what this means."

Courtney shook her head, wisps of hair falling out of her ponytail. "Maybe Grandma was right all along, maybe there's something we can do."

"You know that's not true. Believe me, I wish there was something we could do, but we're not doing ourselves any favors playing wishing games. There are some things I need to tell you before I go, and I want you to listen."

"Okay." Her voice was small, barely audible.

Dean paused for a moment, trying to think of the appropriate way to get his point across. Courtney wasn't a little girl anymore, and sometimes he had trouble remembering that. "Remember that time you were at our house, and your baby doll disappeared? I accidentally ran it over with the lawn mower and didn't have the heart to tell you. I made your Grandma distract you while I crawled around on my hands and knees picking up all the little pieces of Baby Josephine."

Courtney giggled, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Me, Grandma, your mom and dad - we've always tried to shelter you a little bit. Maybe we shouldn't have, but the world could be a nasty place. Bad luck and bad things happen with no rhyme or reason, and we always wanted to save you from as much heartache was we could. But times like that are gone. The world's not just a nasty place anymore, it's downright survival of the fittest. The times where I could pick up the pieces and tell you comforting lies are over."

Courtney buried her face in her hands and began to weep. Silent as a mouse, the only give away was the hitching of her shoulders.

"I'm going to be dead within the next day or two. It's just going to be you and Grandma, and...well, rely on yourself above all else. You keep a knife or a gun with you at all times, even if Clarence or Ben tell you not to. Do whatever you have to, because this isn't the end. This world, this mess we're in...I thought there was nothing left, but here I am wishing I would get to see what comes next. Something  _does_  comes next, and I want you to be around for it. Every tragedy in history came to an end eventually. This is what they're going to write in history books, and you're gonna get to tell this story to your grandkids."

"This is too hard," Courtney faced her grandfather, anger shining underneath the tears in her eyes. "Everyone's gone but Grandma, what's the point?"

Of all the reactions Dean expected, this one never entered his mind. It scared him to hear Courtney talk like that; it almost sounded like she didn't care if she lived or not.  _Time for tough love._  "Don't talk like that. Be grateful for every day you have because you don't know when it'll come to an end. And when it does you'll wish to God you had longer. Trust me."

At first Courtney didn't respond, then she nodded once. "Alright."

Dean stood from the booth and had to clutch the table to keep from falling over. "Go sit by the fire for a while. I want to talk to Grandma."

"Okay." Courtney took her leave. Seconds passed before Peggy stepped out from the sleeping quarters.

"Do you think that was a good idea, telling her to carry a weapon against Ben's orders?"

 _Of course that's what she focuses on._ "Look what happens when people wander around without anything to protect themselves." Dean motioned to his wound once again.

Peggy shrugged. "Fine. What did you want to talk to me about?"

Dean sighed and returned to his seat. He waited to see if Peggy would join him but she stayed in the shadows of the kitchen, arms crossed. "I need you to face the music. Bites are a death sentence. Courtney needs you to accept it."

"Give it time."

"I don't have time." A sudden burst of anger surged through Dean. "Look at me! I haven't stopped sweating for three hours. I've never been this pale in my life, and I stayed back to puke when everyone was coming back from Kate's funeral. I'm on my way out. If I can accept it, I think you can."

"No," Peggy barked. "We didn't wait with Melissa, we are this time. If there's any chance at all that you can recover - "

"There isn't!"

"You don't know that."

Through the fog in his brain, Dean had a sudden realization. "Nobody is this stubborn, not even you. I know what the real problem is here. If you accept everybody turns, you also have to accept you spent the past two months hating me for no reason."

Without another word, Peggy went out the door.


	7. The Right to Bear Arms

**TWENTY FIVE DAYS LATER**

Samantha passed the pistol through her hands, feeling the cold of the plastic even through her gloves. Most of her limited firearms experience was focused on rifles, but Jake said they were too bulky to carry in Fairbanks. He sat to her left, their elbows almost touching. Eyes squinted to peer through the snowflakes littering the windshield, he leaned so far forward his chest almost touched the steering wheel.

"Dammit!" No matter how many times he flipped the switch, the wipers refused to move. They had no way to know that the first snowfall of the year would occur on the third day of their scavenging excursion, and Samantha was sure she wasn't the only one stressed about it. To her right, Carmen leaned as far away from her companions as she could. Every time Samantha looked at her, she would roll her eyes and turn her back to the window. While her brother Brandon had become a productive member of the group over the past few weeks, Carmen remained as cold and aloof as the day she arrived. This was Samantha's first trip into the city, and she couldn't help but wish this wasn't also the first time Lauren stayed behind. Between Jake and Carmen, literally, she was constantly on guard.

Carmen sighed, steam billowing in a little cloud from her mouth. "Do you even know where we are?"

"I meant to come here, so yeah." Jake pulled over to the curb and shut the engine off. He ran a hand down his face. "This street is nothing but businesses with apartments on the upper floors. Lots of potential. The problem is if this snow gets any heavier, we're gonna have to leave early."

Secretly, Samantha hoped that would be the case. Jake's comment about her not 'pulling her weight' was her sole motivation to come along. She'd fudged the truth about her capabilities, assuring Clarence she'd been in Fairbanks plenty before joining the group. Their goal was to find enough food and warm clothing to last them a couple months, until they got settled somewhere else. The nights had been getting steadily colder for a while now. As a Fairbanks native, cold was nothing new to Samantha - but being out in the boonies without so much as a heater was certainly rough. Those who didn't have boots, heavy coats, and gloves were beginning to feel it, and finding those things was much harder than Samantha expected. Most of the stores they checked were stocked only with summer clothes and anywhere with food had been thoroughly picked over. They'd resorted to breaking into houses and apartments, and found winter clothes deep within abandoned closets.

"So what if we have to leave early? I doubt there's a cache of supplies anywhere around here." The rickety truck creaked when Carmen slung the door open and stepped out onto the cement. She stopped for a moment, stretching her legs.

Jake pulled the keys out of the ignition and shoved them into his pocket. "These buildings are close together and there are a lot of alleys. Keep your eyes peeled, alright Sam?"

"Right. Of course." Samantha joined Carmen on the sidewalk. A string of gold rush era attached buildings stood on either side of the street, alleys separating them here and there. Samantha tightened her grip on the gun, reminding herself that as long as she had it, she could protect herself. According to Clarence it was a 'Glock 45', but she had no idea what either of those meant. All she knew was it made her palms hurt if she fired it more than three times - which she always had to.

Leading the way to the first building on their right, Jake stopped before the front door. An ornate sign hung out from the bricks and squeaked softly in a lazy breeze. It read  _Giancarlo's Italian Restaurant & Pizzeria. _"Windows are in tact." No sooner than the words were out of Jake's mouth, two walkers shambled around the corner of the building. They moved as slow as molasses, their feet dragging the ground even more than usual. If there were any perks of Alaska's crippling climate, this was it. After their last run, Lauren announced to the whole group that the walkers were slowing down. Peggy was the one who suggested it was because of the cold, citing how stiff the weather made her joints. Jake pulled a knife from his belt and waited until one of them was within reaching distance to charge. Taking her by the shoulder, he pinned her up against the bricks. Her reflexes were so slow she hardly had time to react before he'd jammed the knife into her skull and brought her to a halt. Carmen took care of the other one, opting to swipe his legs out from under him and slam the claw of her hammer into his forehead. She jumped back right before his blood spurted out towards her face.

Jake stepped over his kill and cupped his hands to the glass. Pressing his face to them, he squinted against the glare of daylight to see inside. "There's only one. You handle that one, Samantha."

When he turned towards her and extended his knife, Samantha searched his face for any sign he was kidding and only found sincerity. Pushing down the urge to reject him, Samantha quickly took the knife before her hesitation caused any suspicion. She didn't want to deal with a walker in such close range, but she also didn't want them to think she was a coward.

Snickering, Carmen moved to the door and gripped the handle. "Are you ready, Mighty Mouse?"

Samantha nodded and Carmen whipped the door open. From the doorway Samantha could barely make out her target at the very back of the restaurant. It alerted at the sight of her and moved slightly faster than the previous two. Hoop earrings swung from her ears in rhythm with her jilted steps. Low groans escalated to raspy noises of desperation as she maneuvered around the various chairs laying throughout the room. Samantha gripped the knife tight, sure her knuckles were white and on the verge of snapping in half inside her gloves.

"Go on," Jake ordered impatiently.

Three sets of eyes watched her every move. Two of them were watching like hawks for the moment she faltered, and the other waited to make her its next meal. Her window to strike ebbed with every second she allowed it to get closer. Ignoring the voice in her head that said this was wrong, she took four large steps forward. Just as she swiped the knife at her opponent's face, it surged forward and missed her by no more than an inch. Gasping, Samantha stumbled backwards only a couple steps before she found herself backed against the staircase railing, the walker following her every move. With nowhere to go but forward, Samantha fought against the bony hands reaching for her face. Desperate to get away, her momentary courage lapsed into terrified panic. All Samantha saw was the gnashing teeth, not even a foot from her face. Rancid breath puffed out with every excited growl.

"Push her off and finish her," Jake called.

She heaved her arms outward and sent the walker spiraling backwards into a table. Done risking her life to impress her companions, Samantha slammed the knife down and pulled the Glock from her belt.

"Don't - "

Carmen's order was interrupted as Samantha pulled the trigger. Her aim was still off and she ended up hitting it's cheek, but it must have nicked the brain. What was left of the woman slumped to the floor.

"How many times have I told you not to use your gun?" Jake snapped, his voice booming. "I knew we shouldn't have brought you."

Before Samantha could respond, Carmen shushed them. Sensing there was something she was supposed to be listening for, Samantha strained to hear over the ringing in her ears. Beyond the seating area was a set of double doors, presumably leading to the kitchen. A noise from that general area quickly became identifiable as the sounds of many walkers.

"Get upstairs!" Carmen raised her pistol as half a dozen walkers pushed the doors open, stumbling around each other to reach the living. To their left, walkers outside sluggishly pounded at the windows. Samantha didn't have to be told twice. She darted for the stairs, and got to the seventh step before she realized no one was following her.

Below, Jake hesitated a moment too long before he rushed _towards_  the approaching herd. He escaped one walker, then skirted around another, before finally reaching the table where Samantha left his knife. Carmen yelled something to him and took out two of the closest walkers with well-aimed headshots. Jake snatched his knife and scrambled backwards - only he should've looked where he was going. One of the various overturned chairs sent him to the floor. No matter how quickly Carmen fired, for every walker she killed, two more came in from the kitchen. They were quickly surrounding Jake, who was stunned for a moment too long after he fell. He climbed to his feet. The knife had been knocked out of his hand when he fell, and now he was in hand-to-hand combat with a walker. It backed him against a table, similar to how Samantha had been pinned against the stairs only moments earlier. While they grappled with each other, another walker circled the table and grabbed onto Jake's arm.

"Jake!" Her voice was small compared to Carmen's gunfire and the collective moaning of all the walkers. Samantha raised her gun and tried to get a clean shot at one of them, any of them, but the vicious trembling of her hands wouldn't allow it. In the blink of an eye, the biter sunk its teeth into the crook of Jake's neck. His face went slack with shock for only a split second before contorting in agony. Blood spurted from the wound as the biter reared its head back and ripped out a large chunk of flesh. Rendered immobile, Jake was unable to fend off the walkers in front of him. They swarmed on him like flies to garbage. All Samantha could hear was his screaming, so deep and horribly guttural that it froze her in place.

"Go, Samantha!" Carmen gave up the fight and joined her on the staircase.

Samantha couldn't bring herself to look away. She locked eyes with Jake for a split second before he dropped to his knees. The walkers were tearing him limb from limb. One was gnawing on his arm, another on his neck, a third on his face. His screaming quieted as the life drained out of him, and soon the only sound was the wet smacking of lips and groaning as the herd devoured him.

Carmen shoved past Samantha and made it to the next floor. "There are a couple stragglers on your ass, you better move."

Three walkers staggered around the railing and started up the stairs. Samantha raised her gun and fired twice, missing both times. There was no point in fighting; her instinct was always to run anyway. She hurried up the rest of the steps and joined Carmen at the top. They were in another small seating area, though this one was free of biters. Carmen gripped a nearby table. Matching the rest of them, it was solid wood - surely heavy enough to daze a walker or two. She visibly strained to pull it over to the staircase. With Samantha's help, they shoved it down the stairs and sent their three assailants flying back to the bottom.

"That's not going to hold them for long and we're gonna run out of tables." Carmen rested with her hands on her knees, panting. "How much ammo you got left?"

Samantha took the Glock from her belt and removed the clip. "Three or four, I guess."

"Same here." The tables below creaked and strained against one another as the walkers rose to their feet again. Carmen shook her head, an uncharacteristic look of uncertainty on her face.

"Go upstairs, see if there's a way out."

Samantha did as she was told and trotted up the next flight of stairs. Rather than another seating area, this appeared to be one of the apartment floors Jake mentioned. The hallway was short and windowless, with two doors on the left and three to the right. She was just about to turn back and tell Carmen the bad news when she noticed the closest door was different. While the rest were wooden and had doorknobs, this one was obviously metal and had a push bar. Stepping closer, she squinted and saw a sign on it read ' _FIRE EXIT_ '. She slowly pushed it open, just far enough to see. A metal flight of stairs lead downward. In the alley below, a handful of walkers wandered about, oblivious to her presence. A chain link gate with barbed wire on top kept another half dozen walkers at bay and separated the alley from an employee parking lot. There was no obvious solution, but the option to go outside was better than nothing...probably. She hurried back down the stairs just as Carmen heaved another table down. The ruckus of it thumping down the stairs then colliding with the other table drowned out her voice the first time, so she repeated it louder. "There's a fire exit up here!" Wordlessly, Carmen barreled past her. She either didn't hear or chose to ignore Samantha when she added, "There are walkers down there."

Carmen thrust the door open and it creaked, a long and ugly sound that garnered the attention of the walkers below. Three flights down, they started up the steps, shambling around one another to reach them that much faster. At the end of the alley, walkers pushed and pulled at the gate relentlessly. Carmen shifted for foot to foot anxiously before growling out of frustration. "Alright. Shit. We're gonna jump."

"Jump!?" Following her companion's gaze, Samantha realized Carmen meant they were going to jump from one fire escape to the other - twenty feet away and three storeys up, across an alley filled with walkers.

* * *

Fat snowflakes drifted lazily from gray, overcast skies. Most of them clung to trees or dead foliage for only a moment before disappearing. This was a good thing; at least they didn't have to worry about accumulation just yet. Jerome pulled his coat hood up huddled down inside of it as the wind kicked up again. It stung his face and hands when he first stepped out of his trailer, but now that he was halfway up the creek path, he was numb. The paper plates in either of his hands threatened to fold in on themselves, and Jerome was sure the food was already cold.

Ben's trailer now sat just outside the scrapyard. He had hauled it out there not long after Kate's death, for reasons Jerome had yet to figure out. In the month since then Ben had set up his own little campsite. A campfire sat a few feet from the trailer, two foldable canvas chairs on either side. This was where he stayed. Jerome couldn't remember the last time Ben was actually in the main camp. Marvin still came around, though mostly to eat. Ben had become the elephant in the room of the whole group. Marvin didn't talk about him and nobody asked, though they sure gossipped. Secrets were hard to keep with so many people in such small quarters, and Jerome had heard many things he wished he hadn't. He didn't need to hear Peggy's lack of faith in Ben any more than he needed to know Clarence and Keisha's sex life was on the fritz.

Jerome strode up to Ben's trailer and went inside without knocking. When it was that cold, he couldn't help but forego manners now and again. Ben sat at the dinette booth with a pen in one hand and a notepad in the other. Graying stubble grew in patches along his jaw. His hair, short as it may be, was wild and obviously hadn't been brushed in a few days. Dark circles adorned the bags under his eyes. He only looked up once Jerome set their plates on the table, only to scrutinize the watery brown and white mixture with a look of disgust.

"Baked beans and cream of mushroom soup." Realizing he hadn't brought any utensils, Jerome walked over to the kitchenette. He rummaged through the drawers and cupboards until he found two spoons. Judging by the look on Ben's face, he probably would've rather stayed hungry. Jerome scoffed. "Maybe it won't be so bad."

Sighing, Ben lifted his spoon and swirled it around in the slop. "I take it you're almost out of canned goods?"

The word 'you're' instead of 'our' wasn't lost on Jerome, but he decided this wasn't the time to bring attention to it. "Yeah. There was a huge can of baked beans and not much else, so this is Peggy's solution. Some of the others are getting beans and spinach so I'd say we're lucky." They took their first bite together and shared a look of disgust. The taste was interesting, both components strong enough to leave an unpleasant taste in Jerome's mouth even after he swallowed. He couldn't help but laugh. "At least it's something in our bellies. Good thing Emma has never been a picky eater."

"How's Rachel?"

"Well…" Jerome tried to figure out a way to answer truthfully as well as inoffensively. "She still blames herself."

"I've told Dad it wasn't her fault, but you know how he is."

"Yeah." Jerome shrugged and they fell into an awkward silence, except for the scraping of plastic utensils against paper plates. Never one to like quiet, Jerome had enough of it after a few minutes. "Your dad took Brandon hunting with him. He seemed eager enough to learn but I don't envy Marvin right now. Teaching anybody anything in this weather must be a drag."

Ben didn't respond beyond a distracted nod. Then, he sighed and set his spoon down. There was something oddly dark about the way he spoke. "I'm trying, I really am. To, you know...start living again. But I just can't bring myself to care anymore. I got myself up shit creek without a paddle."

Caught off guard by this sudden conversation shift, Jerome was eager to not let the moment slip away. Ben hadn't talked this much in a month. "What do you mean?"

Ben snickered. "I had no idea what I was getting into, bringing all these people back here. I only did because Dad and Kate talked me into it."

Jerome hesitated. Ben was in a fragile way, and he wasn't sure if he could handle hearing the real state of things. "Clarence has really stepped up. He's running things now. And don't get me wrong, I know he means well and is just doing what he thinks is best...but most of these people are scared and latching onto anyone who seems trustworthy. Clarence expects too much out of everyone."

"How so?"

"Not only does he want to go to Juneau, he wanted to head out without stockpiling anything. He said we could pick things up along the way." Jerome shook his head at the memory. "That's crazy. Seven hundred and some miles with no preparation? We probably wouldn't even make it out of town. And he's not leaving any room for discussion. He expects us to either do what he says or buzz off."

"So let them go." Ben shrugged. "We can either make it here or go somewhere else ourselves.

In fact, that might even be for the best. Let Clarence and whoever wants to go with him go. That should cut the group back enough that we can live here like I wanted to in the first place."

Jerome's brain went into overdrive trying to get a coherent argument ready. How could Ben think like that? "Our group would be you, me, your dad, Rachel, Brandon, Carmen, and two kids? That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen, Benny."

"What's your solution, then?"

"They need a more compassionate leader than Clarence and we need people with a range of things to offer. Right now we've got people to scavenge, you and Clarence to run things, Rachel's a nurse...we've got a good thing going on, even though it doesn't seem like it at the moment. You need to come back and we'll go from there. I don't think everybody has their hearts set on Juneau."

Ben absently picked at a brown coated mushroom on his plate. "Clarence's idea is horrible, I'll give you that. But I don't  _want_  to come back. I've stuck my neck out for everyone and I don't even know why anymore. They were never happy with decisions I made. Someone always had a bone to pick or a problem with me. I used to think they were just ungrateful, but you know why they were unhappy? I don't know how to be a leader because I'm not one."

"That's not true. You and this group have lasted longer than the National Guard. I'd say you did something right."

"You know if the group sticks together I don't want to stay here, either right? Juneau and the way Clarence wants to go about it is crazy, but we can't make it through the winter here." Ben lifted the notepad he'd been writing in. "As much as I don't want to be, I do feel responsible for these folks. So whenever I have a clear head, I've been going over our options. And none of them include staying here, pal."

That wasn't what Jerome wanted to hear. Disappointed, he crossed his arms. "It's your call as far as I'm concerned, but I don't get why we can't make it here. All we need to do is find a couple more trailers, stockpile some food, get some clothes - "

Ben interrupted sarcastically, "Find the meaning of life, cure cancer, fly to the sun…"

"This place is perfect," Jerome insisted. "We're golden out here. Do you think there's any other group that can go months without seeing a single walker?"

"That's what this is about." Realization dawned across Ben's face. "You want the group to freeze and starve just so you don't have to deal with walkers."

Heat come to Jerome's chilled cheeks. "It's not like that. I've got a family to think about. Put yourself in my place, would you want your wife and kid to see the kind of shit we have?"

"Yes," Ben replied. "It's part of life now. Gotta learn at some point."

Jerome couldn't be but so irritated with Ben. He didn't understand because he wasn't a father. But if that's the way he felt, there was nowhere left for the conversation to go. Jerome's plate was only half empty, yet his appetite was gone. "You can have my slop if you want it. I'm gonna head back to camp."

"I've got some thinking to do." Ben's gaze, serious as a heart attack, followed Jerome all the way over to the door. "But so do you."

* * *

Early winter had hit Red Fox Creek hard and fast. One day it was tolerable, and the next Rachel cursed every moment she had to be outside her trailer. She yearned for her heating system, fireplace, and home in general. 'Their' trailer still doubled as the camp's kitchen and dining room, and she couldn't help but be irritated about it. Every time the door swung open with someone coming in to cook or eat, she got that much closer to speaking her mind. Peggy was the cook, why couldn't they switches places with her and Courtney? That was really Jerome's trailer they were in anyway. With the cold came more woe and bad luck. Jake had hardly been able to get the truck started when they left, and most notably, water was becoming a real problem. No way to wash themselves or clothes, no drinking water - they had to bring it back from the creek and warm it up on the stove or campfire before use.

Rachel trailed behind Lauren on their way out of camp. The plastic buckets they carried banged together with every step. Emma skipped alongside them, a stack of lids held tightly in her arms. Surprisingly, she was generally unaffected by...everything. After the gun incident she stayed true to her word and stuck to playing with the other kids. Kate's death came and went without evoking much emotion. Winter's impending wrath didn't phase her, even though she was one of the few who still didn't have boots or gloves. She took  _everything_  in stride, too much even for an Alaskan girl.

The creek's babbling crescendoed as they neared it, doing little to break the awkward silence. Finally, Rachel couldn't take it anymore. "So, Lauren...how did you get so good at this stuff?"

"What stuff?"

"Surviving," Rachel answered. "I mean, you go on scavenging runs, even Clarence is impressed by your firearms skills, and you always seem so calm. You're awfully young to have such a level head."

Lauren pulled her beanie down until it almost went over her eyes. Tufts of brown hair stuck out every which way. "Twenty-three isn't that young is it? To answer your question, I guess I just adapted. I knew early on that I couldn't act like a scared college kid or the world would treat me like one."

"College," Rachel sighed, smiling. "I remember those days. Feels like a lifetime ago."

"You were a nurse, right?"

"Yep. An emergency room nurse, specifically. How about you?"

"Marketing major," Lauren replied sourly. "Boring as all hell. My folks said they'd only pay my tuition if I picked from their choices, and it was either marketing, mechanical engineering, or biology."

"Lesser of the evils, huh?"

She shrugged. "I guess so. I was just about to finish up my second year when everything went to shit."

"I'm going to be a detective," Emma declared. "Just like Nancy Drew."

"Sounds great, kiddo." Lauren smiled. "Enough about me. Nursing sounds way more exciting. From what I heard, the hospitals were crazy at the beginning. Did you nurses and doctors realize something was up before everyone else?"

"Not really. A few people came in with bites but I didn't see anybody turn or anything. To tell you the truth, I bailed out as soon as I realized things were going to get very bad very quickly. That was maybe three days after our first bite victim." Rachel glanced at Lauren to gauge her reaction, and was pleased to see she looked understanding. "It wasn't long after that things snowballed. Maybe I should've been there, but I have a family."

"Can't say I blame you."

"Emma, you stay at the bank. I don't want you getting wet." Conversation lulled as they reached the creek. The rubber boots on their feet made it difficult to walk on the jagged rocks lining the water. Rachel almost fell over more than once, struggling to keep her balance. She stepped into the water and gasped, feeling the cold shoot up her legs. The boots may have kept her dry but did nothing for warmth. However unpleasant it may be, getting wet was more of a problem than getting cold.

Lauren lowered her bucket to the water and let the lazily rushing water fill it up. "Gimme a lid, Emma." Emma dutifully tossed one of the four lids she carried like a frisbee. Lauren caught it and secured it onto her bucket then moved on to the next one. "Can I ask you a weird question, Rachel?"

"...sure?"

"How did you and Jerome meet?"

"Before he got into the gold mining scene, Jerome was a construction worker out of Anchorage. Guess who came in with a huge gash on his bicep my third week working the night shift?"

"That is so romantic!"

"Not at the time." Rachel giggled at the memory. She finished filling her own first bucket and set it aside. "He puked on my feet. But that accent, the big brown eyes, the charm...I was smitten. I slipped him my number before he left and the rest is history."

Lauren looked beyond her and smiled. "Speak of the devil."

Rachel glanced over her shoulder to see Jerome heading down the path. He stomped along at an unusually quick pace and seemed to be muttering under his breath. When he saw Rachel he stumbled, and the irritated expression morphed into a faux happy one. He slapped on a happy face for her, and she saw right through it.

"Need any help, girls?"

Emma shook her head. "Not right now, Papa.  _I'm_  helping."

"And you're a very good helper," chirped Lauren. She wrinkled her nose comically. "We've got this. We don't need any  _boys_."

Emma laughed and tossed her the last lid. Seeing his daughter happy seemed to relax Jerome. He plucked the beanie off his own head and forced it onto Emma, despite her protesting. He chided, "Stop it. Your ears are as red as tomatoes." The two of them started play boxing, hopping around in the dirt and dodging each other's 'punches'.

Rolling her eyes, Rachel filled her last bucket. After securing the second lid, Lauren lifted both of her buckets by their handles, grunting with the effort.

"Will you take Emma back with you?" Rachel made her way back to the bank and set her buckets down. "I want to talk to Jerome for a minute."

"Sure." Lauren nodded. "Come on, Emma."

As the two of them headed back to camp, Rachel moved over to a nearby boulder and sat down. Rocks were known to hold head but apparently they also held cold, because her rump was freezing. "Honey...are you okay?"

"Fine," he replied, a little too quickly. "Why do you ask?"

Sighing, Rachel decided it was now or never. "What's going on? And don't give me that 'nothing' crap like you have been. I feel like there's a brick wall between us anymore. That connection we used to have is...I don't know."

He stiffened. "Rachel…do we have to talk about this standing out in the cold?"

"Yes." She couldn't bite her tongue anymore. He could be so frustrating. Sometimes she wished she had a husband that  _would_  yell and complain. "I know if we walk back to camp to go inside, you'll find a reason we can't talk. Something is eating you up inside and I want to know what it is. You wake up with nightmares every night, you're withdrawn and never want to talk."

"We talk all the time."

"Not about anything that matters. Every time I try to bring up leaving, you change the subject. Jerome, I'm done waiting for Ben. We need to make a choice of our own. I am cold, I am hungry, and I am terrified that I'm going to wake up one morning to two feet of snow. Our lives are on the line here."

Hesitantly, he began, "You've seen Fairbanks twice since everything happened. You don't know how bad it is and I want to keep it that way. I want you and Emma to live in peace as long as you can."

"Okay," Rachel scoffed. His thought process puzzled her. "I can understand wanting to protect Emma. I do too. But I'm not ten years old, and it isn't right of you to keep me in the dark like I am." When Jerome didn't respond, just stood there looking like a deer in the headlights, she continued, "Clarence wants to go to Juneau. If there is anywhere left in Alaska that has to be it, right?"

Jerome exhaled heavily. "I just went through this with Ben."

"Now you're going to with me." Rachel crossed her arms. She felt a little awkward being so abrasive with him. This wasn't the first time she felt like his mother, and she doubted it would be the last.

"A month ago we agreed Anchorage was too far. What changed?"

"Everything," Rachel exclaimed. "We started out alone and ended up part of a group. We found out this virus might be more than we thought. And I realized how hard everything is gonna be. Emma has turned into even more of a stone than you. She needs stability, somewhere with four walls and a roof. Not this eternal camping trip."

Jerome remained still as a statue. Only his expression changed, morphing every so often from frustration to exasperation or vice versa. "We're on our feet and we've got a solid group. Things are a little rough right now but when the group comes back from Fairbanks - "

"If they come back," Rachel corrected. "One of them was supposed to radio in every morning. Nobody has since the first day. Who knows what that means."

" _When_  they come back, we'll have it made. Going to Juneau, especially the way Clarence wants, is bonkers. If he's dead set on that and everyone else wants to go with him, I don't know what we're going to do. I won't do it, not like that. We can disagree until the cows come home, but you _have_  to see how bad of an idea that is."

"Then what about Anchorage? My sister might still be there, plus that's my home town. I know that city like the back of my hand."

Jerome didn't respond immediately. He shrugged. "I suppose I can think about."

Rachel's heart sank. Everyone thought Ben and Clarence were stubborn, but Jerome could match them when he had his mind set on something. Sympathetically, she said, "You want the group to stay together and stay here. I understand that. But I don't think you understand that's probably not going to happen and we need to start making a plan B."

Just as Jerome was about to speak, a shrill scream from somewhere up the path made them both freeze.

"That sounded like one of the kids." By the time Rachel was done speaking, Jerome had already taken off towards the noise.

* * *

Courtney walked into the cemetery, grateful for the shelter provided by the dense trees. They may have been bare, but with so many together they formed somewhat of a wall, allowing her to escape from the icy wind. She approached her grandfather's grave and plopped down beside it. The dirt had settled and succumbed to the weather. By now you could hardly tell there had ever been a hole or anything buried there. The only giveaway was the headstone, a sizeable boulder with 'Dean Peterson' carved into it. She'd done that herself. She had to. Who else cared enough to do right by him? Jerome and Clarence dug the grave, but that was only to be nice. Nobody really _cared_ about Grandpa but her. At the end, he sacrificed himself for her sake. The more she thought about it the more she realized that was the final time he would sacrifice himself, but not the first. When it was Mom's time, Grandpa took care of her so she wouldn't have to. He was always there for her, taught her most of what she knew about the outdoors. Yet when his time came, he had to 'take care' of himself. Grandma pretended like nothing was happening the whole time, and Courtney didn't have it in her - not that he would've let her anyway. He lasted a whole day after he got bit, until he was so sick and weak he could hardly walk. Then he asked Clarence to drive him out somewhere, and that was that.

"Things are only getting worse." Out here, Courtney could say anything she wanting. No one was listening, no one was going to yell at her or judge her. As always, Grandpa was the only one there for her. She pulled a withered weed from beside the headstone and twisted it between her fingers. "It's  _so_  cold. And the water tanks in all the trailers have froze so everyone stinks. Brandon came up with the idea of warming up enough creek water on the stove to wash up. He's really cute." Courtney smiled despite herself, imagining the face her grandfather would've made at that comment. "He's hunting with Marvin today. I haven't gone hunting since you...left. It just isn't right without you there."

A few feet away, some of the thicker bushes rattled furiously. Courtney scrambled to her feet and reached under her coat for her gun, nestled firmly between the waist of her jeans and her thigh. Just as she got it out and held it in trembling hands, expecting a walker to burst out at any moment, a small voice gasped, "You have a gun!" and Aaliyah stepped through the bushes, her face alight with awe. She was one of the few unlucky members of the group who hadn't got winter apparel in her size. Her coat, a deep purple color, would've been a better fit on her father. It hung almost to her knees, and the sleeves went well past her hands when not rolled up.

Courtney lowered the gun as soon as she saw her, a deep feeling of guilt sinking in. She'd been prepared to shoot whatever stepped out, and had been a split second away from pulling the trigger. Grandpa's words rang in her head.  _Always have a clear view of your target._ Huffing, Courtney put the gun back in it's hiding spot. She demanded, "What are you doing out here?"

"I followed you," Aaliyah replied. "What are you sneaking out of camp for?"

"None of your business."

"You don't have to be so rude."

"And you don't have to be so nosy." Courtney grabbed Aaliyah by the arm and started out of the cemetery, doing everything she could to fight down the edging anxiety. Aaliyah was a kid, she probably thought she was crazy talking to a head stone. "Come on, we're going back right now. Your Mom is probably worried sick."

Aaliyah rolled her eyes. "I bet she hasn't even noticed I'm gone."

"If she hasn't, I'm telling her you followed me."

"No!" Aaliyah tore her arm away. She frowned for a moment, then a devilish smile spread across her face. "I won't tell your secret if you don't tell mine."

Courtney wasn't sure if Aaliyah was referring to her gun or the fact that she thought Brandon was cute. She felt a rush of annoyance. She liked Aaliyah, but sometimes she could be so childish. "If you do you'll be tattling on yourself."

"I don't care. You're breaking my daddy's rules."

Hearing rustling behind them, Courtney stopped in her tracks and shushed Aaliyah's demands to know what was wrong. Twigs snapped. Bushes rattled. Above the babbling of the creek, Courtney could've swore she heard breathing. "Aaliyah, did one of the other kids come with you?"

Aaliyah shook her head, all of the mischief replaced with fear.

Not wanting to make the same mistake twice, Courtney simply rested her hand on the gun and waited. She heard a huff of breath, some scuffling of feet on the ground. Then the crispy undergrowth trembled and out stepped a brown bear three times the size of any human, no more than thirty feet away. Courtney's heart dropped into her stomach and nearly beat out of her chest simultaneously. Aaliyah screamed so loud it echoed against the trees. She tried to run but Courtney clutched her by the coat. "Stop! Don't, you're making it worse!" For once, Aaliyah listened. The bear snuffed, producing a big puff of steam.

"Do something, he's gonna eat us!" Aaliyah screeched. Tears made frosty tracks down her brown cheeks.

Grandpa had never said much to her about bears, except 'they're as afraid of us as we are of them'. Courtney wasn't sure if she believed that. This bear looked anything but bothered by their presence. It took a step forward and Courtney took one back, slowly. She edged her hand towards her gun, wondering if a thirty-eight special would even do any good against a bear. "Uh...go away."  _That's what you're supposed to say, right?_ The bear growled this time and stood up on its hind legs, towering over them similarly to the trees. Courtney didn't know if she should run or stand still, go for her gun or try yelling at it some more. Seconds ticked by, though they felt like hours, and the bear only thundered up the path behind them. Courtney was sure they were about to be eaten by this bear's mate. She tensed, wondering how being devoured by bears compared to being eaten by walkers.

The unmistakable voice of Jerome exclaimed, "Oh, shit!" and the footsteps halted. Courtney glanced over her shoulder to see Jerome and Rachel standing just a few feet back. To her dismay, both of them looked just as terrified and panicked as she felt. The bear dropped back down to all fours. As quickly as it appeared, it walked away, huge paws thumping against the dirt and rocks. It splashed into the creek and kept going. Courtney hardly had time to breathe before it was gone. She deflated like the air had been let out of her, suddenly exhausted.

"A bear," Rachel said, her voice high pitched. "A fucking bear! My god…"

Jerome blinked rapidly. He ran a hand down his thickening brunette beard. "Rachel, take the kids back to camp."

"What about you?"

"Someone has to tell Ben about this."

"You don't even have a gun."

Courtney's heart sank again. What she wanted to do and the right thing never seemed to line up. How would she feel if she kept her mouth shut to cover her own butt and something happened to an innocent person? Sighing, she retrieved her gun and extended it towards Jerome. She grumbled, "Here."

Surprised, Jerome hesitated a moment before he took the gun. "Thanks."

Stumbling over her words, Courtney couldn't help but launch into an explanation. "It's - see, I - that's my grandpa's gun, and he said - "

"Don't worry about it right now," Jerome replied. "We've got bigger fish to fry."

* * *

 _Jump?_ Samantha looked from the fire escape to Carmen, struggling to find the words to express how terrible of an idea that was. "I can't - "

"Okay, well I am." Carmen shoved her gun into her waist band and climbed up onto the railing. It came about thigh-high, and Samantha was sure she was going to fall thirty feet to the walkers waiting below. Carmen faltered for a moment before bracing herself against the railing. She crouched down then sprang off, grunting. She slammed into the next railing and fell over the side head-first. After taking a moment to gather herself, she stood up and gave Samantha a thumbs up. "Piece of cake." Behind her was a window to someone's apartment. Something thumped against it, causing her to jump. A walker pounded against the glass. His decaying face poked through the shears and pressed against the window hungrily. In the alley below, the walkers were focused on Carmen and tried hurriedly to find a way to her. "Come on if you're coming, Mighty Mouse."

What other choice was there? A couple walkers were already ascending the stairs up to her, and if she went back inside it would be ten times worse. Samantha thought for sure her legs were going to go out from under her. She felt the cold metal of the railing through her gloves as she climbed up onto it. She glanced down and immediately regretted it, realizing for the first time just how high thirty feet was. If she fell, it would be certain death, whether the fall killed her or the biters did. Taking a deep breath, she pushed down her terror and launched off - only to come about six inches short of the mark. Her chest hit the other railing first, and her arms wrapped around it and managed to keep her from plummeting down. She swung her legs and tried to find purchase on the landing but her boots slipped and slid against the slick surface. "Carmen, help me!"

"For God's sake." Carmen grabbed her by the back of the coat and gave her a good yank, allowing her to get her footing and step over the railing.

"The truck keys are still on Jake!" Samantha gasped at this sudden realization, feeling an even stronger sense of hopelessness turn her stomach. "What are we gonna do?"

Carmen waved her off dismissively. "Don't worry about it."

They both jumped when the window beside them began to crack. Below, walkers ascended the stairs towards them. Just one storey down, they were slowed by the cold but nonetheless moved closer. A dozen others shambled around the alley, trying to figure out a way to reach them. The gate to the employee parking lot was beginning to fold under the weight of another nine or ten biters. "Fuck it." Carmen cocked her gun and turned to the window. She fired the last three shots in quick succession, sending glass flying every direction. The walker inside dropped only to be replaced by another two.

Out of reflex, Samantha scrambled backwards and almost toppled over the railing. She pinned herself in the corner, as far away as she could get.

Carmen wrestled with the walker attempting to join them on the fire escape. "Damn it!" She shoved the walker inside by it's head, then bent down and picked up the largest shard of glass. When the walker inevitably reappeared, Carmen gripped it's scalp with one hand then drove the shard into its eye socket. It dropped, and when she pulled her hand away a deep gash spurted blood. She simply grimaced and pressed it against her coat. "Stay here. I'm gonna look inside."

"Carmen!" Samantha protested, but Carmen had already stepped through the window. The leading walker below finally reached her flight of stairs and stumbled around the railing, sunken eyes set firmly on Samantha. Raising her gun, Samantha hesitated a little too long before pulling the trigger. The bullet hit it in the shoulder, doing little more than stunning it. By that time it was overtaking her, and it lunged just as she fired again, wasting her last bullet. Cornered, Samantha yelped when it's hands narrowly missed her face. She dropped her gun and heard it clatter to the concrete below. Her hand's met her opponents cold, mushy forearms and the railing dug painfully into her back. For a corpse, it sure had a lot of fight. She felt her strength beginning to ebb as more walkers approached just feet away. If something didn't change quickly...Samantha screeched once again. "Help!"

No help came. Samantha found one last burst of energy, surely adrenaline-fueled, and managed to squeeze out of the corner while keeping her grasp on the walker. Having the upper hand, she hurled him towards the railing with all her might. He toppled over it and fell to the alley below, landing with a crunch and splat. Samantha had no time to revel in her victory. Three more were feet away from joining her when a hand from inside clutched her by the coat and yanked her backwards. Much like the walker had, Samantha tumbled through the window and landed in the apartment. Terror quickly ebbed into surprise and anger when she realized it was Carmen. "What the hell?"

Wordlessly, Carmen moved to a nearby television stand on wheels. It appeared to be solid wood, the only thing missing from it a television. From Samantha's place on the carpet, she could see the walkers reach the landing. Carmen pushed against the TV stand, straining. "Are you gonna help me or what?"

Samantha hurried to her feet and took the other end, pulling while Carmen pushed. Together, they managed to secure it in front of the window just as bony, gray arms began to poke through. It wouldn't hold forever, but hopefully give them enough time to figure out what was next. The apartment was open, with nothing separating the kitchen and living room. Beside the front door another door sat open, exposing a messy bedroom. Samantha leaned against the kitchen island. "What now?"

Carmen walked past her and tore some paper towels off the roll. She pressed them to her hand and winced. Blood immediately blossomed into the white, oversaturating it. "There's no way we're both getting out of here."

Something in her tone made Samantha's heart speed up. "What do you mean?"

"Look…" Carmen sighed. "I checked and we have to go back down to the street. Forget the truck, it's surrounded. But we're gonna have to fight through that swarm, no weapons and I'm gonna have to hotwire one of those vehicles." She paused, running her tongue along her lips. "I've got to go without you."

Samantha felt like the air had been knocked out of her. Her voice wavered. "Y-You can't leave me."

"I have to, okay? I'll head to camp and bring someone back to get you."

"No!" Samantha insisted. Her chest constricted, and tears swelled in her eyes. She couldn't handle herself alone! How did this happen? Jake was dead, and now she would be too. A simple run into the city, how did it end up like this? "Don't do this to me!"

"Shut up, okay?" Carmen snapped, all traces of her momentary kindness gone. "That's what's happening. You try to follow me and I'll kill you myself. I'm not gonna have some useless little pantywaste like you be the reason I die. I told my brother joining this group was a goddamn mistake. We should've left the French one and his goofy family in that plaza. I should've insisted we leave you in camp. But no, everyone else thinks they know better. You just wait…" Carmen trailed off, grumbling under her breath. She wrapped another wad of paper towels around her hand and pulled the largest butcher knife from the block in the kitchen. She put it in the inside pocket of her coat and headed towards the window.

Samantha could barely think clearly or see for the tears that clouded her vision. She trailed after Carmen like a toddler separated from its mother, weeping and pleading incoherently. "Please, please, I promise I won't get in the way, Carmen, please…"

"Enough." Carmen yanked the curtains down. Walkers dotted the street below. Carmen picked up a nearby lamp off a table and smashed it against the glass. All it took was one time, and the glass rained down to the sidewalk. At the other window, more walkers had gathered and the furniture began to creak and moan against their shoving.

Desperate, Samantha's pleading escalated to near screeching. "Carmen,  _please_!"

"Back off," Carmen snarled when Samantha got too closer. She stuck one leg out and sat balancing on the window. Taking a few deep puffs of breath, Carmen wiggled out the window and gripped the sill with her hands, lowering herself down as much as she could, then let go. Samantha unintentionally held her breath as Carmen fell twenty feet to the sidewalk, landing awkwardly on her left leg. It folded upon impact and she cried out in pain, garnering the attention of the walkers. Struggling to keep her balance, She pulled the knife from her coat and started to a car parked at the car. She wrenched the door open then fell inside and shut it. Walkers were immediately pawing the door and slamming the glass.

Seeing her window of opportunity and in turn her life dwindling, Samantha bellowed to her companion once more through her weeping. "Carmen,  _please_!"

By the time Carmen turned the engine over, the alley walkers had swarmed on the car, dwarfing it in comparison. It lunged forward, mowing down any walkers in its path, and sped up the road until it was out of sight. The walkers began to lose interest in Carmen, and Samantha sank to the floor, both so they wouldn't see her and because her knees couldn't support her anymore. Her chest felt so tight it would surely burst. Tears and snot pooled in cold rivers on her neck. A straggler on the fire escape pushed at the TV stand barrier when one of her sobbing became a little too loud. It was done. She was alone. She was  _dead_.


	8. Three Steps

Samantha cried until she had no tears left.

Hours passed since the dull pinks and purples of sunset faded into the black of night. With the absence of electricity, street lamps, or flashlights, the black void inside the apartment was almost overwhelming. It was a darkness like Samantha has ever known, so thick that she could hardly see her hand in front of her face. At some point she moved from her spot below the window to the bathroom, both to shield herself from the cold and to get away from the moaning. Oh,  _the moaning_. There was no escape from it. The ones on the street below wandered back and forth aimlessly, hardly walking more than ten paces per minute. The ones on the fire escape had yet to forget there was fresh meat just beyond the barrier, and they pressed against it relentlessly.

She sat in the bathtub with her knees pulled up to her chest. Her eyes ached from weeping. For what must have been the hundredth time, she lifted the walkie talkie from her lap and pressed the talk button. Static crackled and echoed off the porcelain. She sniffled and tried to speak, her voice unusually scratchy.

"Anybody listening?" Nothing but silence returned. The snow surely accounted for the interference...unless nobody was listening anyway. What difference did it make, anyway? No one was coming for her. She wiped her nose, further encrusting her gloved with snot. She began to weep again, but her puffy, inflamed eyes produced no tears. "P-please, if anybody can hear me...you don't even have to be from my camp, I just need help." Nothing. She wept harder and slammed her fist angrily against the wall. "Please..."

Carmen wasn't coming back. Neither one of them knew the way back to Red Fox. She was screwed in every sense of the word. There were a hundred obstacles she had to overcome just to get out of the apartment, and then what? Even if she found a map she couldn't find the camp. The truck was surrounded by walkers and Jake had the keys. Her options were die like Jake, getting torn limb from limb, or sit in that bathtub until she starved to death.

At some point she fell into fitful dozing, waking up so often she couldn't tell if she'd slept for five minutes or five hours. Her dreams were short flashes, just long enough to make her either want to sleep forever or wake up screaming. Memories of her life before the outbreak mixed with the things she'd witnessed since then. Birthdays and Christmases, blood, death, and despair.

Maybe it was better this way. Just break the mirror and take her own life, rather than get torn apart.

After six or seven times, she awoke enough to see sunlight peeking under the door. By that time, in between her panic dreams, she decided she was not going to die in that bathtub. Maybe on the street, yes, but  _not_  in that bathtub. Nobody was coming to help her and she didn't want to die. That left only one option, one she had never entertained before; she was gonna have to fend for herself. Wisdom from her mother played over and over again in her head. "Rome wasn't built in a day," she always said, during the many times Samantha felt overwhelmed. "Take it one step at a time and you can do anything." So, what would step one be?  _Find something to defend yourself with._  Then what?  _Find a way down to the street._  That should be simple enough - if there were any walkers in the hallway they would've been at the door already with all the noise she and Carmen had made. The ones on the fire escape hadn't made themselves heard for a while, so that opened up her options a little bit. After that?  _Survival is all that matters._

Three steps. Find a weapon, get out of the building, and survive. She could do that. The first two, at least.

She stood up and staggered sideways, just barely catching herself with the shower curtain. Her legs had gone completely numb from sitting in the same position all night. After taking a moment to regain feeling, she found the door and pushed it open slowly, half expecting to see the barrier knocked over and the apartment full of walkers. Instead she could see clear through the TV stand and to the other building. The walkers had wandered away some time in the night, probably after a rat or something.

The rest of the apartment was as she had left it. Early morning light shone through broken window. She could still hear them moaning, and decided to stay away from that window for a while. She crouched down and duck-walked to the kitchen, using the island for cover. She listened. Slowly, she pulled the drawers open one by one until she found the closest thing to a weapon - a screwdriver. It wasn't ideal, but if a piece of glass worked for Carmen, she could manage. Samantha tip-toed over to the television stand and peered over the top to see out. The fire escape was clear, at least from what she could see. The alley, however, looked worse than yesterday. Many of the walkers from the street seemed to have returned to the alley. Some of them stood around idly while the others paced back and forth.

Samantha overlooked a big part of her third step - she had to get a vehicle. The Peterson's truck was as good as gone since the keys were still on Jake...or should she try to get them back? Some of the walkers in the alley looked familiar; perhaps some of them came out from the restaurant.  _No, that would be too dangerous._  Who was to say Giancarlo's Restaurant and Pizzeria wasn't wall to wall with walkers? She would have to find another way. First, she had to eat. The way her stomach was growling, it was liable to draw attention to her. She pulled open another cabinet and found a few cans of food. She opened one with a can opener she found with the screwdriver and plucked the carrots out. They had no taste and were so cold it made her teeth hurt, but at least it was something in her belly. After she'd had her fill of that, she found herself in a stalemate with her own mind. One part of her said to just go for it guns-a-blazing. If she was gonna die anyway, what difference did it make? The survivalist in her, however, told her to wait. Think. Look.

A crystal swan knick-knack sat on a nearby bookshelf. Samantha picked it up and held it for a moment, figuring it weighed a pound or two. She walked to the window Carmen escaped out of, careful to not stand close to the wall where she couldn't be seen directly. She squinted against the blinding sunlight. Six walkers shambled around on the street below. Their clothes hung off their decaying bodies and flapped in the soft breeze. They were moving a little faster than the day before, undoubtedly warmed by the sun. Summoning the skills she'd gathered playing softball as a kid, Samantha clutched the swan in her hand and reared her arm back. She hurled it out the window, and her aim, although, rusty, got it where it needed to go. The crystal crashed against the brick building across the street and shattered down onto the sidewalk, earning the walkers attention...but not enough. They only alerted long enough to lumber over, and only a couple of the ones from the alley bothered to check it out.

 _Okay. Guess I'm gonna have to go bigger._  Samantha grabbed another ornament, this time a larger glass cat sculpture. There was no way to pitch it as she had the swan, so instead, she leaned out and hurled it as far as she could before ducking back into cover. The glass shattered in the middle of the street like a snowball, sending glass flying five feet in every direction. The sound echoed off the surroundings, and Samantha heard the walkers groan with excitement. She hurried over to the fire escape and peeked over the TV stand. The alley walkers heard it this time and trudged towards the street as fast as their dragging feet and rotting limbs would allow. When most of them had wandered out of her sight, she moved the TV stand away from the window. She took a deep breath, willing down her increasing fear, and stepped out onto the fire escape landing, screwdriver clutched tightly in her hand. At first she thought she had succeeded. Only a couple walkers were left in the alley, and they had yet to notice her. Then she heard more moans coming from her right, and her heart dropped. The gate to the employee parking lot at the end of the alley was bulging and shaking under the strain of half a dozen walkers. How long would it hold?  _Just get down there. They're slow. You can outrun them._

She hurried down the steps, cringing every time they creaked. When she finally reached the ground she stumbled to a stop. Not all of the walkers had gone all the way to the street. They had stopped just at the left end of the alley and started at the sight of her, stumbling and stomping forward. The two at the other end were closer and more concerning to her. She looked at the screwdriver in her hand and realized she had overestimated her courage. Instead of trying to kill any of them, she ran between the two groups and out towards the street. She stuck close to Giancarlo's as she rushed down the alley and made it to the sidewalk. This drew more attention, and now she had lost count of how many eyes were on her. Desperate groans and gnashing teeth came from every direction. The Peterson's truck wasn't but a few feet away, and it pained her to leave it behind, but unfortunately she didn't have Carmen's hotwirking skills. The street was still lined with vehicles, and her eyes passed over all of them again and again.  _Oh God, they're getting closer. How many of them have keys and gas? What do I do?_

She moved to the nearest one, a blue two-door truck with a flat tire. She tried the door and was dismayed when it wouldn't budge. She duck-walked around it to the driver's side door of the vehicle in front of it, a green pickup. This one had the same result. Down the street, none of the walkers were interested in figuring out the source of the crash anymore. All of them moved in her direction. Slow as they were, she still was no match for dozens of walkers. Growing desperate, she said a silent prayer and ran to the next vehicle up and peered through the window. The gas gauge needle sat just below half a tank, and keys sat on the dashboard. She pulled the empty pistol from her waistband and slammed the handle against the glass. Again and again until it finally gave way. Glass sprayed inward, and more walkers from nearby alleys started towards her. Samantha reached into the truck, unlocked and opened the door. She removed her coat and tossed it over the seat to protect herself from the glass. Alaskan autumn air nipped at her exposed arms. She snatched the keys off the dashboard and jammed one into the transmission. The engine wheezed weakly.  _Come on, God, give me a break. Please..._  Despite the mirror's warning that 'objects look closer than they appear', the walkers certainly appeared  _close_. She turned the keys again, and again, until it finally spluttered to life.  _Whew! Now I just have to -_  Just then, a walker reached through the window and latched onto her arm, leaving half-moon grooves in her skin. Relief went just as quickly as it came, replaced with panic. The walker struggled to force her way in and bring Samantha's arm to her mouth. Stringy hair, tangled and embedded with leaves, stuck to the blood on her half-gone jaw.

"N-no, no, no…" Samantha tried in vain to free her arm, only pulling the walker closer. Despite all outward appearances, her strength was no match for theirs. Something poked her in the pocket as she scooted away from the window. With her free hand, she reached underneath herself, into the pocket of her discarded coat, and retrieved the screwdriver. She clutched the plastic handle and jabbed it forward in a swift motion, right through the walker's bugging eye. The grunting instantly stopped and she dropped like a bag of bricks, unfortunately taking the screwdriver with her. Samantha took a moment to inspect her arm, glad to see none of the bitch's claws broke the skin. Another walker pounded against the passenger side window. Samantha stomped the pedal to the metal and left all her enemies in the dust.

She sped along faster than she had in all her life. There were no cops to stop her, no other drivers, and no need to obey traffic laws. She swerved around any walkers and occasionally went up on the sidewalks, reveling in her triumph, until reality crashed over her. She slammed on the breaks and came to a screeching halt, right at a stop sign by coincidence. She reached into the glove box and rifled around, disappointed to find nothing more than fast food wrappers and a pack of condoms. Her chest tightened as her high dwindled. None of her surroundings were familiar. She'd somehow ended up at an intersection, one story houses and small businesses all around. Even with a map, she didn't have any idea how to get back to Red Fox Creek. Hysteria overpowered the little voice in her head that said 'you can look for a map', and her breath came in ragged puffs. She narrowly got herself out of a bad situation, but what was next? Without so much as something to defend herself with?

In the crisp morning silence, a strange sound broke into Samantha's overwhelmed mind. A low rumbling, the engine of a vehicle. She froze, trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. On the road ahead, an armored truck rolled into sight. A different kind of panic surged through her, and she flew to the floor of the truck, half laying across the seats and partially in the floor. The sound grew closer and closer, until she was sure it was just across the street, then it shut off. Too afraid to move, she squeezed her eyes shut and began to pray. A car door opened, then shut. Moments later, a voice no more than a few feet away said,

"You know I can see you, right?"

Her eyes flew open. A man stood just outside, peering through the broken window. He was tall and lanky, wearing tattered fatigues. He held a rifle in a relaxed manner, pointed towards the ground. Fear clutched Samantha's voice in it's grip. All she could do was slowly raise her hands, show that she wasn't going to fight, and give up.

The man grinned and slung the gun over his shoulder. He leaned against the window, cool as a cucumber. "I'm Private Lancaster. What's your name?"

After a moment, she relaxed ever so slightly, just enough to find her voice. "Samantha." The term 'private' registered, and an ember of hope inside of her sparked. "Are you with the military?"

"The National Guard, actually. What about you?"

"I'm nothing," She replied, then quickly corrected herself. "I-I mean I'm not with anyone. It's just me. I had a group, but...I'm lost."

Private Lancaster nodded. His eyes seemed to looked her up, down, and burn holes in her all at once. "You look the part."

"There is a guy in my group," She continued hesitantly, voice small. "Or I guess I should say  _was._ He said the National Guard was running the refugee center at Fort McAdams but something happened."

"Yeah,  _something_." He snickered, his face settling into a crooked grin. The wild gleam in his eye made Samantha intensely uncomfortable. "What was his name? Maybe I know him."

"Jerome Dufour? His wife's name is Rachel. They have a little girl."

He shrugged. "Doesn't ring a bell. There were a ton of people there, after all. It was hard to tell how many actually made it out."

"...if it really is gone, is there somewhere else?"

"Listen, Sam, things aren't like they were before. Hell, they aren't even like they were when Fort McAdams was up and running. The National Guard isn't at the Governor's beck and call anymore because there  _is_  no Governor." He paused, then asked, "You ever heard of martial law?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, that's been in effect since the beginning of the outbreak. People have just forgotten, or maybe they gave up. In any case, the little bit of National Guard that's left can't have stragglers like you out here sucking up our resources. You understand, don't you?"

She didn't, but in any case it didn't sound good. The edge to Private Lancaster's tone caused her to shift, raising her hands higher in surrender. "Not really. Just don't hurt me. Please."

"Just come with me. I can take you somewhere warm, get a decent meal in you, and explain this in some more detail."

"Go with you where? Mister, um, Private, I just want to find my friends again. I just need a map."

"Samantha," Lancaster drawled, letting her name hang in the air. "Listen to the nice military man. I'm all you've got left."

Samantha's heart raced, but she knew the time to fight was up. Lancaster opened the door and stepped back, like a chauffeur opening the door for his occupant. She crawled out, hands still where he could see them. Dread fell over her like a blanket. For once, doubt poked holes in her naivety. "What are you gonna do to me?"

"Save your life, by the looks of it." He plucked her coat off the seat and tossed it to her.

* * *

The moon hung in the sky like a fingernail clipping. Milky white clouds, filled with the promise of more flurries, drifted over it ever so often. This dim moonlight, along with the low fire that kept Clarence and his family from freezing to death, gave the camp some much needed light. For that, Brandon had to be grateful. He liked to think he was an adaptable guy, but this whole 'survivalist' thing was really putting him to the test. As if the dead roaming the earth, cold, and hunger weren't bad enough, now he had to worry about bears. How none of them ever thought of it before was beyond him, but he could only be so irritated. Hindsight is 20/20, after all. He only hoped if one made it to camp he'd have some leverage. From the top of Peggy's trailer he could see the perimeter of the whole camp and the shotgun in his lap would at least slow down a bear...hopefully. Really, he was kind of glad his main concern for the time being was something natural, something that was a normal concern when in the wilderness. Walkers were a secondary threat out here, and for the first time, Brandon understood why Jerome was so hell bent on staying.

At this time of year there were no crickets or any of the other woodsy ambiance Brandon expected. The silence was deafening except for the occasional hoot owl or howling coyote. And then, his walkie talkie crackled to life for the first time in three days.

" _...hear me...from…"_

He snatched the walkie talkie from his belt and listened intently. The static was thick with some kind of interference, be it from the clouds or distance. He caught a woman's tearful voice -  _Samantha?_ He waited for a good ten seconds, then pressed the talk button.

"Hello? Hello, this is Brandon, who is this? Do you copy? Hello?"

The only sound that returned was more static, louder than threw the shotgun down and started down the ladder, two rungs at a time. He repeated his message the whole way to the ground and across camp, frustrated by the time he reached Clarence's tent. The static had stopped, plunging him back into silence. Did he imagine it? Was it someone from his group? He raised his hand and had one more question...was it appropriate to knock on a tent? He drummed his hand against the frost-covered nylon and hissed, "Clarence!" Hardly more than thirty seconds later, the tent shook fervently from an inside source. The entry flap unzipped, fell open and Clarence lumbered out, bundled up in the same clothes he wore during the day.

"What's going on?" His voice was thick with grogginess, but Brandon heard the underlying panic.

"I heard a voice on the radio." Brandon lifted it as high as he could, hoping the signal would return. "It was weak but I think it could've been one of ours."

"You think?" Clarence's frantic expression deflated into a scowl. "Boy, you mean to tell me you dragged me out of my tent in the middle of the night for could haves and maybes?"

"In all the time you've been here, have you ever got someone on this radio that  _wasn't_  one of ours?"

Keisha's head poked out from the tent. "What's going on?"

"Brandon heard someone on the radio. Doesn't even know who it was for sure."

"Yeah?" Keisha's eyebrows rose hopefully. She seemed much more excited by this news than her husband. "What did they say? How'd they sound?"

Heat flushed Brandon's cheeks. All of a sudden it seemed silly, getting so worked up over less than a sentence. "She said 'hear me', then there was an interruption and I heard 'from'. Clarence crossed his arms, unimpressed. "She sounded upset, like maybe she'd been crying. My guess would be Samantha...my sister doesn't get upset like that."

Clarence clapped him on the shoulder. "If she's upset and radioing in the middle of the night, what do you think that means?"

"That at least one of 'em is still alive." Brandon replied firmly. "I know how you feel about it, but we know the general area of where they went. Jake wanted to try the business districts. If you just let me go - "

"Out of the question."

"Dude, come on. I can take the bus and be in and out before dawn."

"No search and rescue missions. You know that and so did they when they left."

Keisha added, "And from one parent to another, I suggest you be extra careful as long as Carmen's gone. Unless there's someone in this group you'd like to raise Adrian."

"Not to mention the bus is the only vehicle we got left."

They tag-teamed Brandon with their arguments, and no matter how valid they were, it only left him frustrated. Things were better when he didn't have to check with anyone besides himself before making a decision. And when did his bus become the camp vehicle, anway? Sighing, he knew there was no arguing. Not with Clarence. He clipped the walkie talkie back to his belt and nodded. "Alright, I get it."

"Don't lose hope yet." Keisha said gently. The fire's soft glow flickered against her face. "It's only been three days."

"Three days and nights in Fairbanks." Clarence chuckled. "A few months ago that was a sweepstakes prize. Now…" He trailed off, leaving them in an uncomfortable silence. He cleared his throat, then shivered. "Well, I'm going to bed before I freeze right to the ground. Stay warm, Brandon."

"Yeah." As Clarence and Keisha retreated into their tent, Brandon turned around to return to his sentry post. He stopped short at the sight of Peggy leaning against the trailer, arms crossed. He wasn't sure how long she'd been standing there and her face, as blank and untelling as always, gave nothing away. When it became clear she wasn't going to say anything, Brandon decided to break the ice himself. "What are you doing up?"

"A Filipino boy was stomping around on top of my trailer." A lopsided grin spread across her face. The cigarette between her lips bounced as she spoke. "Clarence got your balls in his pocket too?"

"Well, he made some good points. He's thinking with his head, I'm thinking with my heart. It's not like me to do that but...that's my sister out there." Something about sharing so much with Peggy felt strange. He'd only talked to her a handful of times in the month he'd been at Red Fox, and rarely about anything other than food. It was strange, seeing someone most of the day every single day, yet knowing them so little.

She pulled the hood of her parka tighter around her face as a biting wind cut between them. She motioned upwards with her free hand. "Let's have a seat, huh? I've been wanting to talk to you."

 _Oh, great._ Brandon couldn't imagine what she had to say but he knew it couldn't be good. He followed her up the ladder plopped down cross-legged, leaving the chair for Peggy. She scoffed, probably a little offended, and stood by the edge. The paper-thin blanket of snow nipped at his legs for only a moment before they went numb. Brandon lifted the shotgun back into his lap and watched Peggy with a reluctant curiosity. She was unlike any other old lady he'd ever met, that was for sure.

"You're strong." She let the statement hang in the air and took a long puff off her cigarette. The smoke billowed from her mouth slowly, mixing with the icy cloud of her breath. "I see the fear getting to everyone else, but not you."

He shrugged, unsure of where this was going. "To be honest, none of it really affects me. I don't have ties to anyone here but my son. If things get too bad or I don't like the way Clarence or Ben want to take us, I can split."

"And it was just you, your sister, and the kid for how long before you came here?"

"A couple months. We were with a little group of people for a few days before we left Palmer, but after that we kept to ourselves. Carmen thinks it's easier that way."

Peggy nodded. "And if that's not a testament to how well you can take care of yourself, that whole ordeal with Kate...I don't think anyone else could have handled it."

Memories of that terrible day came flooding back. The blood. How Kate's head sounded when he dropped an engine block on it. The wild yet dead look in her eyes. He'd done his best to push it out of his mind. "Do you have a point to all of this?"

"Yeah." Peggy took one last drag from her cigarette and flicked it into the campfire below. She plopped down in the chair. "I think you're gonna outlive us all." When his mouth fell open, she rolled her eyes and held a hand up to stop his incoming argument. "You're too humble to believe it and that's a good thing. It's better than being so cocky you think you're above getting bit. But me? I'm old. I had ninety-nine problems before the dead started walking, and I've got a hundred more now. I can't say with any certainty that I'm gonna make it through the winter. So...when the day comes where a walker gets me or I don't wake up one morning, I want you to keep an eye on Courtney."

"What?" Panic and surprise hit Brandon like a ton of bricks. He sputtered and struggled to articulate his thoughts. "I'm - she's - what do I know about raising a teenage girl?"

"At this point she'll raise herself." Peggy shrugged. "She's sixteen in November, whenever that is. She thinks she's grown anyway and damn close to it. If something happens...I just want to know she won't he all alone."

For however momentary, Peggy's crass attitude had fallen away, and for the first time Brandon saw cracks in the mask. He was flattered that of all the people in camp to look after Courtney, she chose him. "Why me?"

"This group is a big mess. Half are waiting for Ben to pull his head out of his ass and come swooping in to make everything right. The other half have put all their faith in Clarence, like just because he was a Marine thirty years ago he has a clue now. You're the only one who isn't looking to someone else to tell you what to do. Besides, who would  _you_ trust with your kid?" Peggy sniggered. "Sergeant Clarence and Mrs. Evans? Or how about Gandhi and Nurse Ratched? Maybe Scrooge McDuck and Mighty Mouse when they get back from Fairbanks?"

Despite how wrong it was, Brandon couldn't help but laugh. "Do you have nicknames for everybody?"

"Just about. That last one was your sister's genius, though." Peggy grinned. "So? How about it?"

Brandon couldn't decide which was more surprising: that Peggy even asked him to be Courtney's Godfather, or that he wanted to say yes. She was a good kid and everything Peggy said about her was true. Besides, it was only a maybe. Peggy was stronger than she gave herself credit for and he had a feeling she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. "Yeah. If something happens, you don't have to worry about her."

"Great!" Peggy spat into her hand and extended it. "Shake on it?"

Brandon eyed the glistening slobber. "Uh...take my word for it?"

"Ha!" She guffawed heartily, loud enough that it echoed off the treeline. "Well, now that that's off my chest, I think I'm gonna go to bed."

"Wait." Just as she stood from her chair, Brandon realized there was something that had been on his mind too. "After the whole thing with Kate and Dean...I never apologized to you. I mean, I said 'sorry for your loss' at the funeral same as everyone else. But you don't know how many nights I've spent wondering what would've happened had I paid better attention or moved a little faster."

Peggy's jolly demeanor slipped away at once. The emotionless, stony look returned to her face. She sighed. "Nobody blames you. There are a lot of things that could have been done differently, and you have nothing to do with any of 'em. So don't worry your pretty little head about it anymore, okay?"

"Okay." It wasn't that easy for him. Everything about that day haunted him. However, he sensed there was something she wasn't saying - and if  _Peggy_  of all people was holding something back, he didn't want to know what it was.

* * *

"Need a hand with that?"

"No, honey. I'm almost done anyway." Jerome swung the axe and split another log. A healthy pile of firewood was accumulating on either side of his makeshift chopping block, surely enough to last them a week or two. Watching Emma and Aaliyah use 'finding tinder for the fire' as an excuse to putter around in the snow was getting old. He dropped the ax and turned to his wife, glad for an excuse to take a break. His shoulders and back ached, sore from using strength to make up for a dull blade. "What are you doing out here?"

Rachel huffed. "Emma asked me the same thing earlier. You guys know I can do more than sort medical supplies in the trailer, right? Or maybe that's all I'm good for. Fetching creek water and trying to make the same shit last so we have enough for all the cuts and scrapes."

Something about her tone seemed familiarly hostile, and Jerome figured the cause was...natural. He motioned to her lower half and reluctantly asked, "Are you on your - "

"Really, Jerome?"

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "I swear I'm not being an ass. I just...are you alright? I don't know how that works now."

"Yes, I'm fine." Rachel shook her head and giggled. "That's not what I came to talk about. I just wanted to say I'm sorry for jumping all over you yesterday. None of this is any easier for you than it is for me."

"I wanted to talk to you, too." Jerome tentatively sat down on the firewood pile and took a deep breath. He'd spent all day thinking about their conversation, and as much as he hated to admit it, everything Rachel said was true. He  _had_  been trying to protect her like a child, and he could certainly see where that would upset her. "You were right. I've been trying to protect you and ended up treating you like a child. There are so many things I haven't told you."

"I figured that." She sat down beside him. "Do you want to catch me up?"

"Well...let's start with what happened while me and Ben were in Fairbanks." He took a moment to retrace his steps, trying to remember exactly what the start was. With the hurricane of memories that raced through his head day and night, it wasn't so easy. "I wasn't ready for it. Walkers were everywhere we turned. We even got trapped inside a pharmacy. All of a sudden they had backed us into a corner. I thought we were going to die there, I really did." Jerome ran a hand down his face. Rachel snaked her arms around him. "The things I had to do...I just kept stabbing and shooting until there was a pile of bodies knee deep. That's all I  _could_  do."

"It will get easier. I don't know if that's a good thing or not, but think about Brandon. He's not an evil person but he has no problem taking care of walkers. It'll come with experience."

"That's the really sick part. Even if only for a few minutes, I stopped caring. They pissed me off and I was happy to keep pulling trigger." Around them, camp life carried on as usual. Marvin wandered over to the picnic table and joined Lauren and Keisha's chit-chatting. Courtney stood outside her and Peggy's trailer, scraping ice off the windows. Over in the trees, just past the trailers, Adrian and Brandon chased one another. All of them had probably done the same as Jerome or worse since the outbreak. If they carried the same demons as him, they sure didn't show it. Frustration welled up inside of him, and he slammed his fist against a nearby log, startling Rachel.

She disentangled herself from him and moved to face him more directly. Her mouth was slightly agape, and Jerome saw her struggling to find the right words. "Honey...I know this has been hard for you - "

"Has it not been hard for you?" The words flew out before Jerome had time to knock the edge off them. Rachel's wide-eyed expression told him it was just as harsh as he thought. Softer, he explained, "You've done it too. Right after the plaza explosion, we stopped in a pharmacy to get something for the cut on my arm, remember?" He yanked up the sleeve of his coat to expose a faint scar. "To get antibiotic ointment, you shot a boy in the head. Do you mean to tell me you felt nothing?"

Rachel straightened up and her gaze took on a harder edge. "It wasn't a boy anymore. It was dead."

"You and Ben have my number. I don't want it to get easier. Those poor people, or whatever they are now, they're constantly in my head. And the man I stabbed at the Fort, too. They're with me every time I close my eyes. They're in my dreams every night." Jerome shot to his feet and retrieved the ax. He grabbed an intact piece of lumber and set it upon the chopping block. "Maybe that's better than not giving a damn."

"Jerome." Rachel practically spat his name. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes. She pointed a trembling finger at him. "Don't you turn this on me, on everyone in this camp. What do you expect us to do? What do you think is going to happen? Tell me, what is the Jerome Dufour plan? It's not survival, that's for sure. I feel like I'm losing you. You are stronger than this, and I'm gonna say this because I love you...get  _over_  it."

He swung the ax into the log then let go, allowing it to fly over the wood pile. He whirled around to face his wife and froze, dismayed to see everyone within earshot ogling at them. "There has to be something more, there just has to be." He wasn't sure if he was just talking to Rachel anymore, or the whole camp. "You mean to tell me every single trace of government, military, FEMA, Red Cross,  _all of it_  is gone for good? I don't believe that."

"We can't find out one way or the other from here." Rachel softened her tone and took his hand. "If you want to hang onto the hope that there's something left out there, that's fine. But right now, all we know is we're alive and they're dead. Nothing else matters as long as it stays that way."

Jerome felt like the air had been knocked out of him. For months he'd dwelled over this thoughts and kept them inside. Getting it out eased his mind...although he was a little irritated that he did it in front of half the group. Wordlessly, he pulled Rachel into a hug and let the world melt away for a few moments. He opened his eyes to see Marvin approaching them and, judging by the look in his eyes, he was about to get his second lecture of the day.

"Maybe this is a bad time, but I just want to get everything set straight right now." Marvin stood with his hands on his hips. He took a deep breath and glanced at Rachel. "I shouldn't have been such an ass. Ever since Ben moved us even farther into the middle of nowhere, I've had a lot of time to think. It was never your fault."

Rachel inhaled sharply and stared at Marvin in wonder. He hadn't so much as glanced in her direction in the past month, and as far as anyone knew, he still blamed her for what happened with Kate. Speechless, she placed her hand overtop his. "Thank you."

He nodded once, then turned his attention to Jerome. "And you? Son, pull it together. I don't really want to go out there either. Not because I don't want to kill walkers, but because I think we could make it here. To me, it all depends on what Ben says. He's got a better head on his shoulders than any of us and I know how he is under pressure." Marvin looked over his shoulder then lowered his voice. "Whatever happens, we need you two." He looked over his shoulder at the group, which had mostly returned to their own business, and lowered his voice. "I'm not just saying this because I think you'll be useful...Ben feels responsible for the others. He  _cares_  about you and I don't think he can lose anyone else."

Jerome felt small under the two sets of eyes staring him down, practically pleading  _grow a set_. Everything Rachel said made sense, but it wasn't that simple. It  _shouldn't_  be that simple. Instead of arguing anymore, he smiled.

"We're with you all the way."

* * *

Clarence eyed the cans hanging from the barren tree, impressed. With their old shooting range turned into a cemetery, they'd simply drove to the scrapyard and decided that would be good enough. Even with the change in location and distance, Lauren was handling the AR-15 just as well as she had in previous lessons.

"Well done," he praised. Lauren stood from her shooting stance, and just as Clarence was about to tell her to turn the safety on, she did it without prompting. He raised his hand and gave a thumbs up, then turned to his other students. The idea to teach everyone to shoot had been in his mind for a while, but nobody seemed to oppose the idea of getting some gun training in before heading on the road - except Keisha, although he did get her to let Aaliyah watch. The latter of them stood with Emma, the two playing rock, paper, scissors. Jerome and Rachel leaned against the ATV, watching rather indifferently. Brandon sat in the dirt with Adrian at his side. When Lauren rejoined the lineup, he gave her a high five. Courtney stood by herself a few feet away. It hadn't escaped Clarence's attention that she watched everything - didn't just watch, but listened. Peggy didn't seem to care one way or the other if Courtney took shooting lessons, but she herself said "yeah, right" when invited along. Clarence pointed to her and she jogged over.

"I know you can hunt with the best of 'em, but how much experience do you have with handguns?" Clarence strode over to the ATV. The Dufours wordlessly got out of his way. He looked at the raggedy duffel bag of guns in the back and selected the Smith & Wesson 1911.

Courtney hesitated to speak. The bug-eyed look shared between her and Jerome did not escape Clarence's attention, but he decided it was one of those things where he probably didn't want to know. She shifted uncomfortably, her sneakers grinding against the hard dirt. "Uh...not very much."

"Alright. That's actually a good thing." He pulled a loaded magazine out of the side pocket and used it to point at Emma. "You're up too, kiddo." A big grin spread across Emma's face and she instantly skipped over, abandoning her game with Aaliyah. The young girl looked after her, then stared daggers at Keisha.

"I think I only need to tell one of you this, but guns aren't toys." Clarence made sure to look at Emma as he spoke. She stared at her feet. He snapped his fingers to get her attention and held the gun and magazine where the girls could see. "We're just gonna go over the very basics today. First things first...this particularly gun has no safety. Once the clip is in, it's ready to fire."

"Whoa, whoa," Jerome piped up from the sidelines, an appalled edge to his voice. "That's a little extreme, isn't it?"

"You know, you're the reason instructors don't allow parents to hover in real classes." Clarence waited until Jerome pursed his lips, silenced, to give his explanation to the kids. "I'm starting you out with this  _because_  there is no safety. I want to make sure you know to treat all guns like they're loaded. Have you ever heard that, Emma?"

She nodded, her pigtails bouncing against her cheeks. "Yeah."

Clarence popped the clip in and held the gun sideways. "That's it. This gun is now ready to fire. Do you see how I'm keeping my finger off the trigger? That's something else you need to do with every gun. Finger off until you've got a target in sight and you're ready to kill." Both girls watched with equally attentiveness, and Clarence was satisfied the message was sinking in. "Alright, Emma, you're going first today."

She walked alongside him past the junk pile Lauren had been at, much closer to the tree. Clarence decided fifteen feet was a good starting distance for a kid and started nudging her into an appropriate stance. "Stand with your feet firmly planted, about as far apart as your shoulders." He took her hands, practically swallowed within his, and molded them around the pistol. She held her index finger comically far from the trigger, probably as far as she could. Clarence suppressed a chuckle and stood behind her. "Arms straight. Now, go for that can in the middle. Lauren didn't tear that one up as bad. Raise the gun to eye level and look through the sights. Make sure the dot on the front one is lined up right with the back two."

Emma followed all directions perfectly. The gun hardly swayed in her hands. "I think I've got it."

"Alright. Take your time and slowly pull the trigger when you're ready. It's gonna be loud but it's nothing to be scared of, it's just noise."

"Okay." Inhaling shakily, Emma stared down her target for only a moment before she pulled the trigger. She flinched and stumbled backwards. Clarence could practically hear her parents crap themselves from across the scrapyard. None of the cans had any new holes, but the tree branch was missing some bark.

Clarence steadied her and got her into the proper position again. "Go again. Try not to sway so much this time."

Once more, Emma raised the pistol, lined up the sights, and pulled the trigger. The middle can jerked sideways and clanged into the others.

"Hey, I did it!"

The other bystanders smiled, and a few clapped. Clarence kept the gun pointed downwards as Emma turned to look at him. "Good. Three more, then it's Courtney's turn. Make them count."

One out of three shots met their mark, but Emma was thrilled nonetheless. Clarence had to remind her to keep her finger off the trigger when she whirled around, grinning from ear to ear. He took retrieved the gun and began getting Courtney set up while Emma returned to her parents, bursting with pride.

Courtney required significantly less instruction. Whether it was her age or she just paid close attention, she held the gun like a pro, hit her target four out of five times, and kept her finger off the trigger when not firing to boot. Just as Clarence was considering giving her a chance with one of the bulkier handguns, Ben and Marvin strolled into the scrapyard. A tense silence smothered the chit-chat. Jerome immediately launched into an excited explanation of his daughter's shooting lesson. The rest of the group, the ones who had hardly seen Ben in the past month, drank in his presence like cheap wine.

"Hey, Ben." Brandon greeted him cheerfully. He was the only one. "You here for shooting lessons, too?"

"Nah, I don't need it. Just thought I'd see how everyone's doing."

Rachel cleared her throat. "We were gonna invite you two along, but...wasn't sure if we should disturb you."

"Kind of hard to miss unless you're deaf." There was no edge to Ben's tone, but when he smiled it didn't reach his eyes. His clothes looked like they'd been slept in more than one night and his hair, which was now grown past his ear lobes, hadn't been more than finger-combed for a while.

Clarence motioned Lauren over. "On second thought, why don't you show Courtney the ropes? I wanna talk to Ben."

"Oh." Shrugging, Lauren played down her surprise and climbed from her seat beside Brandon. "No problem."

"Really?" Ben smiled, and fell into line beside him as they started their walk out of the scrapyard. "Funny, I've been meaning to talk to you too."

* * *

Their pace slowed as they walked out of earshot from the rest of the group. Ben watched Clarence's body language carefully, and wondered for a split second if the two of them should be alone together.

Then Clarence, simply ran a hand down his face and sighed. "Man, I feel like we're in a Mexican standoff and I haven't even seen you in a month."

"Yeah."

"Maybe I should've visited but hell, I didn't know what to think when you dragged your trailer out of camp. None of us did. All we've heard about how you're doing is from your dad or Jerome. They try to be nice, but mostly it's been a whole lot of 'he's holding up' and 'he's not himself, but who would be'."

"Yeah," Ben repeated, nodding. "They're the only way I've stayed up to date on things, too. The city run. Your Juneau plan. The damn bear." More shots from the shooting lesson echoed through the woods back to them. "Having them do that in the scrapyard is an interesting choice. I hope there aren't any walkers along the road that can hear them."

Clarence cut his eye at Ben. "Have you got something to say?"

"Look...I've said it before and I'll say it again - you've been a huge part of this group since the start. Especially in the past month, you've really stepped up. But I've heard about some of the things you've been wanting to do. I just want you to know my group isn't going to be part of that. Whatever my group is...with that warm welcome I got back there, that could just be me and my dad for all I know."

" _Your_  group." Clarence snickered, and before he could continue, Ben interrupted him.

"That's the exact attitude I thought you'd have." Sighing, Ben slowed his pace. They approached the creek, and he leaned against a tree. "There's no need for this to be...dramatic. I've been going through some stuff in the past month and I'm still going through it. I appreciate what you've done in that time. But going forward? This is my camp, and any of those people that want to be are  _my_  people, and we aren't going to Juneau. If you're gonna be one of my people, you're gonna have to respect that."

Clarence listened silently, then nodded. A sadness seemed to fall over him, and he deflated. "I had a feeling you would feel that way once you snapped out of it. Keisha and I already talked all this over a hundred times and we decided we'd be going on our own if it came to that. To us, Juneau is the only thing worth working towards. It's the state capital, Ben."

"I know what it is." Ben stopped himself from getting carried away. Putting all his faith in the capital seemed absurd, but that wasn't what he wanted to talk about. "You're sure?"

"Positive."

"Alright. I'm sorry to see you go, and I mean that. You've been very valuable to this group."

For perhaps half a minute, the only noise was the rushing creek. Then, Clarence chuckled humorlessly. "Can I be honest with you, Ben? I think you're making the biggest mistake of your life."

"I'm gonna do what I have to so I can do what's right for my family. With every moment that my head's been clear, I've been thinking about the future, and I think the future is in Anchorage."

"So, how are we gonna do this? You gonna just throw my family out with nothing?"

He sighed. "I said no dramatics. I'm not throwing you out of anything. You can take food, weapons, whatever you need. I'm saying this under the assumption you're not gonna strangle me tonight and take over, of course."

"Bud, this group isn't worth murder." Clarence spat on the ground. "What about a vehicle? I don't know how much you know, but I don't think that group is coming back."

"We'll go out tomorrow and find you one. We're gonna need a second vehicle anyway if the truck is a loss."

Clarence nodded, gritting his teeth. The muscles in his jaw rippled. "Okay. This is probably for the best. Too many Chiefs in the teepee and all that."

"Right."

They started the trek back to the scrapyard, and Ben had only one more thing to say. "Oh, and Clarence?"

"Hmm?"

"My wife slit her own wrists and came back as the undead. There is no snapping out of that."

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my beta reader. I don't think I would've finished this without ya. Please leave a comment/review/whatever it's called on here if you've enjoyed.


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